Superman: Helpless
by DC Davis
Summary: When a terrorist arrives in Metropolis and vows to take a life for every life Superman saves, the Man of Steel is placed in a no-win situation. As the body count and the stakes continue to rise, Earths greatest champion is faced with the ultimate decision: Save all of Metropolis from a Nuclear meltdown, or the life of the woman he loves... Lois Lane.
1. Chapter 1

Jeremiah Kuttler looked out at the row of caskets before him, then up at the bright shining sun. He felt it was wrong. All wrong. Sunny days were meant for days of celebration and joy, days filled with happiness and enjoyment. Not funerals. Jeremiah looked back at the caskets. He never wished for rain more in his life. Days like this demanded that the very heavens should weep; demanded that all the angels in heaven should stop and take notice. It demanded that the rest of the city, if not the world, should be just as miserable; should suffer just as much, as he was. But, much to his dismay, the weather was proof that no matter what happened to him, the rest of the world just kept moving right along, completely oblivious to his pain and heartache.

He sat there in his black suit; the buttons were open, letting his dark blue tie hang in front of his white shirt. Every now and again, the breeze would catch it and toss it about playfully. The way she would sometimes…

Jeremiah wiped his eyes. Normally pale green, they were now red and puffy, and began to ache. He looked down at the row of people seated beside him. The woman next to him had been crying non-stop since she arrived. She was wearing a long black dress, black nylon and heels, and a black hat with a black lace vale that covered the upper portion of her face. Even still, he could see that her mascara was little more that black trails; more evidence of her heartache.

Jeremiah knew this woman, and had spoken to her a few times, but her name was lost to him: Mary or Maria; something that started with an "M". His brow creased with concentration as he struggled to remember. It was important that he remember, or at least it should be. Circumstances like these, he felt, it needed to be important.

A cough drew his attention from Mary (Maria?) to the man sitting on the other side of her. His name was Thomas. Thomas Herron. Jeremiah knew him fairly well, having been invited to more than a few male bonding sessions involving football and basketball games, cases of beer, and some pretty good barbecue ribs.

Thomas wore a black suit that was similar in style to Jeremiah's, but tailored better. Thomas also wore the same red, blood shot eyes. His cheeks were stained with salty tracks; too much beer, not enough water.

Next to him was his wife. Her name was Nancy. She was wearing a black dress and heels. The length was a little too short for Jeremiah's taste, but he immediately remembered the many times he had heard "Tom" comment about how great his wife's "stems" were. How "everything she wears shows off her legs…" And while he didn't disagree with his neighbor and friend, he just thought that something a little longer would have been more appropriate.

Next to Nancy was a small Latin woman Jeremiah had seen hundreds of time, spoke to dozens, but never learned her name. Also dressed in black, she was clutching a small child in her arms, crying and rocking back and forth. Her lips were moving, but he couldn't make out what she was saying.

That made him look at the man whose voice he could hear. The priest was speaking, quoting some biblical verse; something about returning to the arms of the father or some such. He wasn't listening. For the hundredth or so time that morning, his eyes fell on one particular casket, the one directly before him. He stared at it as hard as he could and tried to feel something, anything. Yet there was only emptiness. Despair.

Maria (Mary?) stood, startling him slightly. She was tall, with bright red hair, long and curly. She looked like her father more than her mother. It was the eyes. Like bright shining emeralds. They were bloodshot red now, puffy and swollen, tears falling even now as she approached the casket before her and placed the crimson rose on top of it. She placed her hand on the smooth mahogany surface and shuddered. She then turned to the casket next to it, and placed a second rose atop that one. She began to sob ad her knees buckled slightly. A man Jeremiah didn't recognize appeared beside her and held her close, supporting most of her weight. Jeremiah didn't recognize him; a husband or lover perhaps. He began to lead her away, and only then did Jeremiah realize the precession was at an end.

He looked down at the two crimson roses he held in his lap. The emptiness returned with earnest. His stomach went cold and a chill went down his spine and made him shutter as he inhaled. His eyes burned, but not with tears. How many days had it been since he last slept? Three? Four? He had lost track. He pushed himself to his feet and approached the casket. The flowers in his hands seemed suddenly heavy. He stood over it looking at his own reflection in the polished surface. His breath was shallow now. His heart seemed week and unsteady.

But no tears would come. No, he had spent the last five days crying. He had no tears left. He drew in a shuddering breath. "Lisa…" he whispered. "I'm so sorry. I wish I was there. I could have saved you… you and… and… the baby…" He felt his eyes begin to burn. "God…" he whispered, as the first tears began to trail down his cheeks. "I miss you so much… I…"

There was a gasp from behind him. Then another. And another. Murmurs and whispers followed. Jeremiah turned towards the small crowd of attendees. They all seemed to be looking at something. Something up, up in the sky.

Superman floated down like a blue and red clad angel, regal and awe-inspiring, his red cape flowing gently in the breeze. But unlike an angle, his body held not glory or righteousness, but defeat. His head hung, his eyes cast downward.

His feet touched the ground like a fallen leaf, and he walked sullenly towards the woman with the bright red hair.

"Mrs. McKinney…" he said softly, his voice carrying over the hushed and awestruck crowd. "I… I tried to save them… The basement… I couldn't…" he inhaled and shuddered. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

The woman moved away from the man holding her, her strength returning to her, her tears slowing slightly, and took a few steps closer to Superman. He could not meet her eyes. She slowly lifted her hand to his face, a face that many women considered handsome and desirable, and touched his cheek with her palm. Slowly, she lifted his face until his eyes, as blue as the summer sky, met her own emerald orbs.

"You did all you could, Superman. Half the people here owe you there lives. My parents did as well. Every time you saved the city, you saved them as well. I don't blame you. You have nothing to apologize for. My parents lived good lives. They died trying to save the people close to them. It's the best any of us can hope for."

"I just…" Superman began… words failing him. "I just wish I could have done more."

"When God calls us home, no one can ignore him. And no one can stop his will from being done. Not even you."

Superman looked at the woman in front of him. Her emerald eyes were tinted red and swollen from crying; eyes that held pain, but peace; sorrow, but acceptance, and above all else, compassion.

Superman nodded slightly. The woman smiled weakly and turned away.

Jeremiah was shaking so violently, if anyone was looking at him, they would have thought he was having a seizure. He felt a stabbing pain in his hand that had been there for the last few moments, but only now he acknowledged. He looked down and realized he had crushed the roses he held; the thorns had pierced his palm. Blood dripped down his hand and onto casket beside him.

He heard foot steps and looked up. Superman was walking towards him. His blue eyes a mixture of determination and sorrow.

Jeremiah looked at the man approaching him. The man so many worshipped as a hero and savior. A man capable of crushing diamonds between his fingertips. A man that could melt steel with but a look; who's mighty breath could turn back a tornado and defeat Mother Nature herself.

The emptiness inside him began to fade.

"Mr. Kuttler…" Superman began.

The punch caught Superman just below the chin. Jeremiah was almost instantly aware of why the media had dubbed him the "Man of Steel"; and grateful Superman had the good graces to turn his head with the blow. As it was, Jeremiah was certain he had at least fractured something.

The crowd gasped collectively; shocked and frightened, and all holding their collective breath, not sure what to expect.

The rage was instantaneous and all consuming. Tears filled Jeremiahs eyes and burn as the rolled down his face.

"Mr. Kuttler…" Superman whispered, turning slowly back to him.

"Don't!" Jeremiah shouted. "Don't you dare come to me with your apologies! You'll find no forgiveness here, Superman! These other sheep might worship you like some golden God, some holy savior, but I don't! And my family sure as hell doesn't! Where was all that power when they were dying!? Where were all those marvelous abilities when they needed you!? You let them die, Superman! Their blood is on your hands! You may as well have killed them yourself! So don't you dare come groveling to me, begging for forgiveness. Trying to make yourself feel better about failing them. Failing all of them!" Jeremiah gestured towards the row of caskets, his burning eyes falling on the one that held his wife and unborn child. He turned back towards Superman, the rage in his heart strong and burning. And to his surprise and frustration, he saw tears falling from Superman's crystal blue eyes.

He took a step closer to him. _"The Man of Steel"_. Jeremiah almost laughed at the notion. "Tell me this, Superman: do your tears have the power to bring back the dead?" Superman lifted his head and looked past the man standing before him to the three caskets beyond.

"No." he whispered.

"Then what use are they to me?!" Jeremiah spat in his face and stormed past him.

He caught glimpses of the attendees. Their looks were a mixture of shock, disgust, remorse, and worse. He didn't care. He hated them. He hated all of them. Especially him. Especially Superman.

He marched angrily towards the town car he arrived in. There was someone leaning against it. Someone tall and thin. With short brown hair and a pair of round glasses over his eyes.

Jeremiah didn't speak as the man held the door open for him. He climbed inside and the door closed behind him. A few moments later, the driver-side door opened and the tall lean man climbed in and settled in behind the wheel. He started the engine and drove slowly down the cobblestone road which lead towards the cemetery's exit. In the back seat, Jeremiah was weeping. His head was in his hands and his shoulders shook violently as he sobbed. Pain and sorrow, rage and frustration, despair and emptiness… he let it all out. And he took it all in. He cried as his world crumbled. He cried as his heart shattered. He cried as his soul sank into darkness. He cried as the car turned onto Main Street. He cried as he glanced out the window in time to see a blue and red silhouette rise into the air and fly off into the distance.


	2. Chapter 2

_Five days ago…_

There were five fire engines in front of the building. Eight Metropolis Police Department vehicles behind them and four Ambulances. Nearly three dozen police officers and more than sixty fire men. Then there were the news crews. Every major network had sent out a representative and camera and technical crew. Every newspaper sent out a reporter and photographer. The television stations and newspaper reporters combined had the city servants outnumbered by two to one.

Lastly, there were the spectators. Everyone from simple passerby's, to evacuated residents of the nearby tenements, to people who lived blocks away, but wanted to see what all the commotion was about. That… and the smoke and fire.

The building was a four story brownstone. It sat in a row of similar structures in what was considered on of the nicer sides of Lower Metropolis; other wise known as "Suicide Slums". This particular block of buildings was the first in a renovation project that included more than twelve blocks and three square miles.

A private corporation, "Renue Enterprises", not surprisingly a subsidiary of "LexCorp", had purchased the entire block a little over a year ago, and had sunk a fortune in renovations, upgrades, and remodeling, all in hopes of turning one of Metropolis' least desirable neighborhoods, into one of its most expensive and lavish.

Now, one of its crown jewel "flips" was being engulfed by a four alarm fire.

The first two floors were completely engulfed. Flames poured out of every window. The third and fourth floors were nearly invisible behind the mask of black smoke the raced into the night sky. The double-door entrance had been blown open by a small explosion earlier, and the lobby was bathed in crimson and yellow flickering light, flames dancing about wildly. Even as four sets of firemen unleashed an onslaught of water into the heart of the building, the fire persisted, set on nothing less than the utter consumption of all in its path.

The crowd of onlookers watched in both awe and fright. They watched as firemen raced this way and that. They watched thousands of pounds of water and retardant being pumped into the inferno. They watched medical crews place oxygen masks over faces and blankets over the shoulders of the residents of not only this building, but the two neighboring structures as well. They watched, oblivious to the two people now pushing their way to the front of the crowd where the police barricade had been erected.

Lois Lane was a woman of average height and build. Five feet, four inches, and one hundred and twenty-six pounds of pure, unmitigated tenacity. Her hair was black and had recently been cut short; just above her shoulders. The style suited her oval face, and made her blue-grey eyes seem all the brighter, and at times, all the more intense; but she liked it more for its manageability than for its style. Lois often found herself in situations where having to deal with a head full of hair, while say, dodging bullets, clamoring through city sewers, or taking refuge from an alien invasion, was less than ideal. Often, they were situations she dived head-long into, usually in the hopes of capturing her next Pulitzer Price winning news article. But, on more than a few occasions, she found herself the target of some evil megalomaniacs scheme, or some nuts desire for revenge.

Yes, short hair was definitely the way to go.

She was wearing a black cocktail dress; an elegant euro-style design with thin spaghetti straps, tasteful neck line, and a "V" shaped back. The dress was cut a little high for her taste, but Clark, her husband, had commented on how amazing her legs looked, and considering all the jogging and exercise she did, she should show them off once in awhile. She looked at her husband; a man of six feet, four inches, a lean and unnaturally muscular two hundred and twenty-five pounds. His hair was styled so that it usually fell forward, almost like bangs, and often threatened to cover his perfectly crystal blue eyes. That didn't matter usually; the glasses he almost always wore did a decent job of hiding them anyway. He was wearing an Italian styled suit, dark blue with a black silk tie that complimented her dress. It had been tailored to his exact measurements and fit like a glove. It showed off his broad shoulders, his wide chest, his slim waist, his muscular arms, his long, powerful legs, not to mention one of Lois' favorite "assets". And while she preferred seeing him in his other "suit", she had to admit that tonight, he looked absolutely delicious.

She submitted to her husbands request, threw on the new pair of black pumps she had purchased for just the occasion, and off they went.

Or at least, that was the plan. They were at the cocktail party for little more than half an hour when she kept noticing her husband starring intently at one of the far walls, a habit of his. She had spent enough time with him to know that he wasn't really looking at the wall… but through it.

Her husband, Clark Kent, was indeed earths greatest hero, Superman. And his x-ray vision, super-hearing, and telescopic vision were often the cause of many nights out on the town coming to a quick, abrupt end.

Tonight was no exception.

She had pulled him to the side and asked him what the problem was, expecting some evil menace, some alien plot, or some giant monster to be rampaging through downtown Metropolis. In fact, she was slightly disappointed that it was only a fire.

Nevertheless, she was having a less than stellar time, and realized she had the perfect excuse to leave. Not to mention that it gave her the chance to catch a story for tomorrows paper.

So here they were, standing at the police barricade, a four story building burning less than a hundred yards away.

Lois spotted a man standing near on of the closest fire engines, and shouted out to him.

"Chief Jensen! Lois Lane, Daily Planet. I was hoping to get a word…" She fished a small audio recording device out of her small black handbag.

The Fire Chief looked her way, acknowledged her with a nod, then said something to the man he was speaking to before heading towards her. Lois smiled and spared a glance back to her husband. He had eyes only for the burning building. Lois knew instantly that he was looking at it with his x-ray vision; searching for anyone that may be trapped inside, structural stress points that may be about to go; anything that might require his "personal attention".

"Miss Lane. " Chief Jensen offered as he approached. "What brings the Planets best reporter out to a simple fire."

"I was in the neighborhood, and it's Mrs. Lane-Kent, now. This is my husband Clark."

Chief Jensen eyed the taller man. He offered his hand. "Fire Chief Mario Jensen. It's a pleasure to meet the man that's crazy enough to marry Lois." Clark took the hand and shook it without ever taking his eyes off the building.

"Chief?" Clark asked, still eyeing the building. "Your men haven't finished searching the building, have they?" he asked.

"They should be heading out any minute. We got four floors. Three units per. Two are vacant. So far, all occupants are accounted for, save for the landlord and his wife, a couple that lives on the second floor, and an elderly lady on the top. The residents that we evacuated say that she hasn't been home for weeks. They think she may be on vacation or something. "

"Maybe you should have your men double check." Clark suggested. "You don't want to miss anyone."

Jensen tilted his hat up and looked at Clark through narrow eyes. "Kent right?" His tone made Clark look at him for the first time.

"Yes." Clark answered.

"You a reporter at the 'Planet' as well?" Jensen asked.

"That's right."

"Well," Jensen began. "When you become a firefighter, serve for twenty eight years, and make it to Fire Chief, feel free to tell me how to do my job. Until then, keep writing your little stories!"

"Mr. Jensen," Clark replied, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. "I meant no disrespect. I just think that it might be a good idea to double check… just to be sure…"

"That's Chief Jensen!" the smaller man spat. "And when I want to hear your ideas, I'll let you know!"

"Chief, it couldn't hurt to take another look." Lois added, her tone pleading, but stern at the same time.

"When my men come down and give the all clear, we're going to put every effort into getting this fire under control before the entire block goes up. I'm not about to send them back into a deteriorating situation just because your husband thinks it's a good idea."

"But Chief," Lois pleaded.

"End of story Lane!" Jensen spat. "Now, if you want to stay and watch, that's fine. But you," he turned his eyes to Clark. "Or your husband try to start telling me or my people how to do our jobs, I'll have the nearest uniform kindly escort the both of you to your vehicle. Am I clear?"

Neither Lois nor Clark responded. Jensen took their silence as submission, brusquely turned and walked back to the rear of the fire engine.

As soon as she was sure he was out of ear shot, Lois turned to her husband. "What is it?" she asked.

Clark eyes were back on the building when he answered. "She's up there; top floor, apartment on the left, in the bedroom. The firemen kicked in her door and yelled out, but she didn't answer. Asleep maybe…"

"You better get moving then." Lois

Clark was already pushing his way back through the crowd when she called out to him.

"I'll meet you at the car." she shouted. She was lying, of course. But her hope was that no one in the crowd would notice her husband leaving, right before Superman was arriving. That they would think that her husband, Clark Kent, was waiting for his wife at the car, and that Superman just happened to be flying by.

And sure enough, mere moments later, a blue and red streak was racing through the sky towards the burning building. People in the crowd shouted. Some cheered. Some outright screamed up at him.

He didn't slow or pause, rather flew straight into the building. Literally. He smashed through the top floor of the structure, small bits of rock, concrete and wood exploding out in his wake. A moment later, he was flying out.

In his arms, he held the small, frail body of an elderly woman, who was unconscious and didn't seem to be breathing.

Superman floated gently to the ground and laid the woman on the street.

A hush fell over the crowd of onlookers. Even the firemen, who a moment ago were racing back and forth frantically, all seemed to stop what they were doing and watch intently.

Superman tilted the woman's head back, opened her mouth slightly with his thumb and finger, and lean forward. His lips enveloped hers, and he exhaled ever so gently. He pulled away for a second, and repeated his actions.

He pulled away again, and placed his finger on the woman's chest, and pressed down tens times in succession. He then leaned forward, enveloping her mouth once again, and blew.

The woman coughed, her body convulsed, and she coughed again, this time taking in long, ragged, deep breaths of air.

The crowd roared to life.

Were a second ago, you could hear a pin drop, even among the sound of the roaring flames, now the night was electric with cheers and yells of "Way to go Superman!" and "He saved her!" Thunderous cheers and applause erupted into the air.

The elderly woman blinked up at him as she coughed air back into her lungs. When she could breathe normally, she looked up at the man kneeling over her. She blinked once. Twice.

"I'm not dead am I?" she asked.

"No ma'am." Superman replied. "You're going to be alright."

"Figures." she replied, rolling her eyes. "Didn't think heaven had angels this beautiful."

Superman smiled, and she smiled back. He leaned forward and scooped her into his arms.

"This woman needs medical attention." His voice said clearly.

A team of EMT's wheeled over a gurney and Superman placed the woman gently on top of it. They covered her with blankets and immediately began checking her vitals and what not.

Chief Jensen walked up to Superman then. "What the hell you all standing around for!?" he barked at the firefighters, many of who were still standing and ogling. They snapped to at his command and hurriedly went back to what they were doing.

"Appreciate the assist, Superman." He held out his hand. Superman took it, but didn't smile.

"Just glad I could help. I'd hate to think what would have happened to that poor woman if I wasn't here. But I'm sure you would have had your men double check the building."

Jensen grimaced slightly. "I was just about to send in the order when you showed up; still gonna send another team in to make sure the coast is clear."

"The buildings empty chief." Superman said turning back to the burning structure.

"How can you be…" Jensen began. "Oh yeah; x-ray vision right?"

"That's right." Superman answered nonchalantly. He checked each floor, each apartment, each room. He didn't see anyone one in any of the buildings four floors.

Superman frowned.

"What is it?" Jensen asked intently. "Someone trapped inside?"

"No." Superman answered slowly. "I'm just having a hard time with the buildings foundation. It's must be made of lead."

"A lot of theses old buildings have lead foundations. It's more expensive than concrete, but these were made to last. I'm willing to bet half the brownstones on the block got at least two feet of lead beneath them."

Superman looked up and then down the street, and true enough, in most of the buildings, the foundations were impossible to see through.

He frowned again, but dismissed it.

"So what's the plan?" he asked the Chief.

"Well…" Jensen hesitated. "I was about to ask you the same thing."

Superman was still looking at the building, his eyes narrow.

"The main support beams are lead as well. They run the height of the building. There's no danger of them going… yet. The neighboring apartments are less then ten feet away. We need to get this fire out before it jumps to either side. Because of the proximity to the other buildings, I can't 'blow' it out. It may cause damage to the other properties."

Superman was quiet for a moment, and then tilted his head to one side slightly.

"Chief, tell all of your men to get as far back from the building as possible; at least fifty yards. Tell them to make sure they secure all their equipment and gear, anything small, any loose articles. Yell when everyone's secure!"

And without any further explanation, Superman flew into the second floor of the building.

Jensen stood there for a moment, puzzled. Then he decided to do as he was told.

"Alright, boys!" he shouted. "Save 'em and pack 'em! Get everyone back fifty yards or better. Secure anything not attached! C'mon! Move it!"

The men reacted instantly, unsure of why they were being told to abandon the fight against a raging inferno: a fire that threatened to destroy the entire block. All they knew for certain was that Superman was here, and everything would be alright!

Jet streams of water and fire retardant chemicals were abruptly cut. Fire hoses were quickly rolled up and carried away. Fire ladders descended and retracted. Police ordered civilians back. EMT's led blanket draped victims either into either emergency vehicles, or a little further away from the blaze. Video Cameras were held steady on the burning building. Digital cameras were held as steady as sniper rifles, patiently waiting the right moment, the perfect shot.

The last of the fire crew made his way to the area the fire chief had determined the minimal safe distance, as Superman had instructed. Once satisfied the area was clear of all his people, Jensen called out.

"All clear, Superman!"

A hush fell over the crowd. No one spoke. No one moved. All eyes were on the burning building.

The interior of the building was designed in a classic style. The center of the structure was a wide open space that reached from the lobby to the roof, a wide glass skylight at the top. The lobby itself was very open and airy. The floor was tiled marble, an intricate pattern crisscrossing the span of the lobby. There was a wall full of mail boxes immediately to the left as you entered through the large double door façade. A few yards away stood the large oak door to the manager's office. Fifteen feet past that was a second door that ran into the adjoined apartment. Two large columns, the buildings main supports, ran up to the roof, a set of matching loveseats, arm chairs, end tables, and a large rectangular coffee table sat between them. There was a wide staircase that ran along the right side of the wall and up to the second floor landing. A similar staircase ran along the left side going up to the third floor, and then along the right again up to the fourth. It was designed so that when someone went all the way up or down, via the stairs, they had to walk the entire circumference of the lobby as they did.

Superman imagined that it was done intentionally, primarily to showcase the intricate design detail in the columns, rails, moldings, and art that adorned the walls on every landing. There were also plants and various sculptures tastefully placed about the lobby and on every landing. It all helped to convey a sense of luxury and elegance.

And it was all destroyed now.

Plants and paintings burned. Sculptures had cracked and crumbled from the sheering heat. The lobby furniture was completely engulfed, the leather burning slowly, but determined.

The entire lobby was bathed in crimson and golden hues. The second floor was much the same, save for the plumes of black smoke that snaked into the air and blanketed the third and fourth floors. Water dripped from almost everywhere and instantly turned to steam as it hit the fire. The air was hot, the oxygen all but gone. Only smoke and carbon dioxide remained.

Superman was glad he could hold his breath as long as he could.

Not that breathing in the toxic fumes would harm him. His super-power lungs would easily filter out any toxins and quickly expel them from his body. No… the truth was, in a few moments, there would be no air at all.

Superman hovered in the open area between the second and third floors. Flames harmlessly licked at his cape, his boots, his arms and legs. He could feel the heat; he could even tell that it had already reached more than five hundred degrees. But there was no pain. Not even the slightest discomfort. To him, there was little difference between being at the heart of a raging fire, and sitting in the park on a warm sunny day.

He scanned the building again. It was empty, save for him. The units on the first two floors were nearly completely engulfed in flames. His x-ray vision showed him burning beds and sofas. Televisions sparked and melted. Clothes turned to ash while still on the hanger. Family portraits, keepsakes, toys, teddy bears, even a bassinet… it all burned.

Superman frowned. He felt a momentary sensation of helplessness. He could, and would put out the fire. He was going to save the building, as well as all the other buildings on the block the fire threatened to destroy if left unchecked. But he knew in his heart that a home was more than the walls and floors and ceiling. It was more than brick and mortar, more than steel and concrete. It was the things on shelves and on walls. It was the blankets on beds and the clothes in closets. It was the things that made you feel safe and secure, warm and cozy.

All those things were well beyond Superman's ability to save. The building, on the other hand…

Superman completed his scan of the building. He looked at the floor and frowned. _"Lead…"_ he thought. " _Who builds a foundation out of lead?"_ He sighed. There was something about the floor that he didn't like. Something that didn't sit well in his gut. Still…

He spread his arms wide at his sides, his body forming a "T" shape. His hands were flat and his fingers were straight. For a moment, he simply hovered there. Then, slowly at first, he began to rotate; one hundred and eighty degrees… three hundred and sixty… seven-twenty, twelve eighty. And with every moment that passed, the speed of his revolutions increased exponentially. Within seconds, he went from floating, as still as a statue, to a blur of crimson and blue hues! And still, his speed increased.

When he reached roughly ten thousand RPM's, the environment around him began to respond to his movements. The air blew out away from him, like a fan. The smoke drifted away from him quickly. The fire was pushed away from him as well, retreating against the walls, climbing up towards the ceiling and the air that was left.

And still his speed increased.

At twenty thousand RPM's, everything around him seemed to pause. For the briefest moment, the flames, the smoke, the very air; it all just stopped. It was as if someone had frozen time, and the only thing that moved was the blue and red blur in the center of it all.

And still, his speed increased.

Time unfroze, and chaos followed.

First, there was a loud "POP", audible even over the roaring fire. Superman's speed had created a vacuum inside the entire building; the air that was previously pushed away now rushed towards him in earnest. And where the air went, the fire followed.

Flames leapt towards him from the floor and walls; were pulled from the furniture, plants and appliances, snaked through every doorway, hole and vent. Ash and dust joined in, as well as thick black smoke. It all joined together and enveloped Superman completely. The blur of red and blue was now a huge ball of crimson flame, black smoke, and ash; a ball the grew in size and intensity with every moment that passed; grew with every flicker of flame that joined; grew with every plume of smoke that was sucked into the vortex.

Outside the building, the wind began to pick up. Trash and litter skipped along the ground. An empty soda can rolled with determination. Hats were pulled of heads. Long hair was whipped around. All of it was being sucked towards the building that a moment ago was a raging inferno. Now, firemen, police officers, EMT's, news reporters, television cameras, and onlookers watched an awe and astonishment as first, the flames seemed to pause, then slowly reseed. Like a flame dying in a hearth, except, unlike a fireplace, not only did the fire seem to retreat into itself, but it took the thick plumes of black smoke with it.

It was like watching a match die out… and took only half the time.

Inside the building, at the center of a ball of fire, smoke and ash nearly twelve feet in diameter, was Superman; still spinning like a top at over thirty thousand RPM's. Amazingly, he was completely aware of his environment. Even through the fire, smoke and ash, he scanned the building. Nearly all the flames had joined the swirling ball or had been extinguished from lack of oxygen. After another moment, there was nothing left burning inside the entire building!

Once confident that the building was safe from further danger, Superman slowly raised his hands over his head, still spinning at blinding speed.

And then, true to form, and faster than a speeding bullet, he shoot straight up into the sky, smashing through the remains of the sky light, a sonic boom echoing behind him. In his wake, the ball of fire morphed and shifted, transforming from a sphere, to a spiraling pillar of crimson flame and black smoke; a pillar that chased Superman skyward at amazing speed. The dark night sky was split by a line of fire that stretched a hundred feet… three hundred... half a mile.

There was a collective gasp from the crowd below.

"My God…" Fire Chief Jensen whispered in amazement.

And as the pillar grew higher and higher, it also grew thinner and thinner, until a thin crimson line of flame dissipated in the cool summer evening breeze.

All that remained was a smoldering building.

The crowd erupted in thunderous celebration. Firemen hugged one another. Police officers traded "high-fives". Newsmen announced proudly "Superman did it! He did it! Superman put out the fire and saved the building!" Digital cameras snapped picture after picture; video cameras recorded nonstop.

And ever so gently, tiny white specs began to fall from the sky.

Ash from the fire, but, from the way people danced beneath it, holding hands and singing praise, you would thought it was the first snow of Christmas.

And only then did Superman floated back down towards the earth.

The cheers doubled. The shouts tripled. The night was alive with cries of "Thank you, Superman!", "We love you, Superman!", and "Superman, you're the greatest!"

Superman simply flashed that heart melting smile, and continued down towards the fire chief. He spared a look towards Lois, who despite being his wife, despite seeing him save the world first hand more times than she could remember, still had tears in her eyes. She smiled at him and blew him a kiss.

He wanted to go to her, to take her in his arms and kiss her deeply, but he knew that it wasn't possible, at least not at the moment. Later, he would show her how much she meant to him. But now, he had to tend to the business at hand.

His feet touched the ground as gently as if he had just stepped off a porch. He walked over to the fire chief. Almost everyone on this side of the police barricade rushed to meet him, surrounding him in a throng of well wishers, fans, and people who just wanted to be able to say they stood next to Superman. Firemen, police, EMT's… all of them.

"Great job, big guy!"

"Nice work, Superman."

"That was awesome!"

"Greatest thing I ever saw…"

"So cool!"

"Amazing!"

They shook his hand and patted his back. They gave him hugs and one female EMT kissed his cheek. Jensen pushed his way through the cheering throng.

"Alright, people!" he barked. "We're still on the clock! I want three teams in that building searching for hotspots immediately." He drew closer to the man of steel. "No offense to Superman, but I don't want this thing flaring back up. EMT's! We still got people in need of attention. Get them to the hospital pronto! Officers, get that crowd dispersed. The show's over!"

Reluctantly, they did as they were told; still mumbling well wishes and congratulations to Superman as they passed. Three sets of fire fighters entered the building. EMT's went back to treating victims of smoke inhalation. Police Officers tried, in vain, to get the crowd of onlookers to return to their homes. The crowd, especially the reporters and television crews, completely ignored their request. Superman was still on the scene. The show was far from over.

Jensen drew even with him. He eyed the taller man in the blue tights and red cape. Once most of the professionals were back to their duties (and out of earshot), he spoke low and even.

"That's the damnedest thing I ever saw, Superman. Impressive. Damn impressive."

"Thank you Chief," Superman answered modestly. "I just did what I could to help."

"Well," Jensen responded dryly. "While I appreciate the assist, in the future, let's leave it to the hardworking men and women of the Metropolis Fire Department, unless you want to put them out a job."

Superman's eyes narrowed. He was really beginning not to like Fire Chief Jensen. "Of course not, Chief Jensen. Unless you need my help with anything else, I'll just get out of the way."

Jensen nodded curtly and Superman turned to leave. In fact, he was about three feet of the ground when he heard it.

Everyone else heard it a moment later.

"CHIEF! CHIEF!" a fireman yelled. "YOU BETTER COME SEE THIS!"

Superman was at the buildings double-door entrance in a blur of speed. Just in time to see the first body.

The maelstrom he created inside the buildings interior had been incredible. The gale force winds had not only served to corral the fire and smoke, but also had shifted the debris and furniture around. The fire had caused much of the buildings interior to crumble and fall apart. A bookshelf had fallen over near a desk in the manager's office. Upon their initial search and inspection, the firemen missed the small door in the floor. Superman missed it due to the fact that it was made of lead…

Now, he watched as a fireman carried a body from what could only be assumed to be the buildings basement. A firemen pushed past Superman and hastily yanked off his oxygen mask and head gear. A second later, he wretched over the side of the buildings steps.

Jensen was at his side then. "What is it son!? What's going on!?"

"Down… down in the basement…" the fireman spat and wiped his mouth.

"Basement?" Jensen breathed. "The blueprints didn't show any damn basement!" Jensen barked. He pushed past the panting fireman and drew even with Superman. He was just in time to see the second body being pulled from depths of the building.

"Oh no…" he whispered. The sound was like a fog horn in Superman's ears.

Not that he was listening. Sure, he heard him. He heard everything. He heard the sudden hush of the crowd behind him. He heard the sound of the flashbulbs from dozens of cameras. He heard the car engines of the hundreds of vehicles rolling up and down Metro Parkway, over a mile away. He heard the a couple arguing over money, about three miles away, and he heard a baby crying round five miles away.

But he wasn't listening to any of it.

There was only silence in his mind as he watched, his heart sinking, his stomach cold, as even now, a third body was being pulled from the basement.

A fireman approached Superman and the fire Chief.

"It's really bad sir…" he said, looking more at Superman than at his CO. "The fire didn't reach down there, but a lot of water got in. The whole room, all four walls, I think they're all lead. That with the heat…" The fireman looked back over his shoulder. Three bodies were laid out on the floor and being covered with blankets. "It was like giant pot down there..." the fireman continued. "A giant steam pot."

He turned back and froze. While he had just seen three bodies pulled from what was the equivalent of a steam oven, what he was saw now made a chill run down his spine and his knees buckle slightly. What he saw made him lose faith in all that was good and right in the world.

He saw Superman cry.


	3. Chapter 3

Only Twenty minutes had passed, but to Superman, it felt like hours. He was standing next to an unmarked squad car. Chief Jensen was seated in the passenger side, with the door wide, his legs on the ground. He was talking on the phone to someone. Actually, he was yelling.

Actually, he was trying to yell.

"I understand that, sir, but… No, we had no way of knowing when exactly, but… I don't think it would have made much difference!... No, the prints we received were from the building office. They didn't show any damned basement!... It was made of lead, for God's sake! Two feet of solid lead!... Yeah, he's still here… Oh the media's going to have a field day with this for sure… No sir… I don't think that... But… Fine. Yes sir."

Jensen hung up the phone and tossed it into the drivers' seat. "Jerk." He mumbled. He let out a heavy sigh and climbed out of the vehicle.

"The mayor says "hi"…" he said as he joined Superman.

Superman didn't respond.

Jensen continued on. "Apparently, the building was originally built back in the thirties; back when the whole world was scared of the "A" bomb falling. The idea behind the basement was a fallout shelter; someplace they could all run and hide and tuck their heads between their legs… Damn idiots." Jensen spit on the ground.

"The victims are the manager," he pulled a small notepad from his breast pocket. "One Theodore McKinney, sixty one; and his wife, Lillian, fifty-five. The third was Lisa Anne Dane-Kuttler. Thirty-one. Apparently, she was some kind of artist, or something. The basements full of paintings and sculptures. I guess they let her use it as her studio or something."

Jensen took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. "She was five months pregnant."

Superman looked at him for the first time since he began talking. Jensen looked back. He couldn't remember every seeing such raw and naked pain on a man's face before.

Jensen looked away.

Slowly, Superman looked back at the building. There was a team of medical examiners on the scene now. They were bringing the first of the three bodies out on a gurney, concealed inside a black bag. Cameras flashed and video cameras recorded it all.

Superman's eyes found the ground.

"The mayor's having a cow, thinks it's going to affect the public's opinion of the level of competency of the Fire Department. Not to mention their opinion of you."

Superman didn't respond.

"He's right about one thing: the media's going to go nuts over this. Christ Almighty! I can't wait to see the headlines!" He spat again. "We'll play up the "lead" thing to the media as much as possible. Make them understand that you… that _we_ all did what we could."

"Did we?" Superman asked, more to himself than to Jensen.

Jensen looked at him, his eyes narrowed. He turned towards him and stepped closer to the taller man.

"Let me tell you something," Jensen began. "Don't do it! Don't blame yourself for this. You saved that woman on the top floor, you saved this building, and you probably saved this entire block. You got nothing to be ashamed of, you understand me!?"

Superman raised his eyes and looked at Jensen, but didn't respond.

"Superman!" someone shouted.

They both turned to see a man holding a microphone. Another man holding a large video camera was at his heels, a bright light shining before them.

They were intercepted by a trio of police officers.

"Superman!" the man shouted again, holding the microphone over the arm of the officers. "Why didn't you save those people? What happened inside the building? Didn't you know they were in there?"

And it spread like brushfire. One reporter and cameraman turned to five, doubled to ten, tripled to thirty.

And they all seemed to be shouting the same questions.

"Superman, what happened?"

"Why didn't you save those people?"

"Did you think you would have time to save them after you extinguished the fire?"

"Didn't you know they were there?"

"Superman, why did you let them die?"

"You better get out of here…" this from Jensen. "We'll handle these clowns."

"I should answer them." Superman offered. "Tell them what happened…"

"No!" Chief Jensen snapped. "Just go! You… you've done enough." he sighed.

Superman looked at him with wounded eyes. Jensen returned his look evenly. Superman didn't know if he meant it the way it sounded… but he didn't respond. He gazed over at the gathering crowd of reporters. Lois had pushed her way to the front.

They locked eyes. Hers' were red and puffy and her mascara had begun to run. "Clark…" she whispered. "I'm so sorry…"

Of course he heard her, but he didn't reply.

Without a word, Superman took to the sky, leaving behind him the building, the reporters, the crowd of onlookers, and three dead bodies.

The questions, however, followed him.

"Superman, why didn't you save them?"

"Superman, why did you let them die?"


	4. Chapter 4

The LexCorp Hydro-Nuclear Power Plant was truly a technological marvel. It was nestled at the base of the Metropolis Damn, the plant itself built on a square mile platform in Metro Bay. There were two nuclear energy processing towers nestled in the center of the platform, both seemingly standard in operation and design from all outward appearances, but what made the plant unique was the way the energy was processed.

True, there were nuclear reactors at the base of each tower, but instead of control rods being used to cool and contain the nuclear energy, the plant utilized recycled water from the dam itself. Water, mixed with a patented LexCorp liquid nitrogen cooling solution, was constantly pumped through the reactor cores. The continuous cooling and heating exchange resulted in a constant release of steam and pressure, which was in turn used to power a collection of turbine generators that not only aided in powering the entire cooling process, but also increased the plants overall power output by more than one hundred and fifty percent. The unique cooling design reduced the plants overall waste production by seventy percent, and had helped to reduce the overall cost of electricity in Metropolis by half.

The overall process was the closest thing to a perpetual motion machine that had ever been achieved. As long as the dam held water, the plant would continue to run. And baring a natural disaster… the dam, and its contents, were safe.

The plant was not only economically efficient, but was also a boon for the community. Over fifteen hundred employees reported to work at the plant every day; including engineers, administrators, material handlers, mechanics, security, material transporters, technicians and regulators, as well as state and government officials. It was responsible for thirty percent of LexCorp holdings and annual profits, and nearly twenty percent of Metropolis' employment rate.

Because of the plants unique location, it was originally accessible from only one road; a two lane stretch of highway that ran from Metropolis' northern city limit, all the way around the length of Metro Bay, and then back down to the dam. It was a commuter's nightmare.

To address the issue, LexCorp commissioned and built a trio of ferries that ran from the mainland, a large pier and parking structure off the coast of midtown Metropolis, and built a tramline that ran in conjunction with Metropolis City Transportation, but included ten daily stops at "LexCorp Hydro-Nuclear". The ferries also ran repeatedly throughout the day; non-stop in fact. Ferris arrived and departed at the top and bottom of every hour. Since the plant required a crew on-site twenty-four hours a day, someone was always either coming or going. The plant was still accessible via the main road; but it was rarely used anymore. Oddly enough, with the average ferry trip taking a half hour one way, and the tram taking a little under forty minutes, depending on which part of the city you were traveling from, the surface road was now the fastest route to the plant.

As Jeremiah sat in the main passenger cabin of the ferry, looking out at the dark cloudless sky, with its bright stars and pale quarter moon, he was glad he didn't drive today, even though the decision to take the ferry had been a last minute one. There was an accident on Metro Parkway, and traffic had slowed to a crawl. So Jeremiah took a left on Grant Road, cut across Midtown, and made it to the LexCorp Hydro-Nuclear Employee parking structure with three minutes to spare. Still, it meant he had to run to catch the ferry, but nonetheless, he made it to work on time.

He had spent the last twelve and a half hours seated in front of a computer terminal (save for the hour lunch spent in one of the plants five cafeterias and lounges; it also had a bowling alley, two Olympic sized pools, an arcade, and a small employee only movie theater). During his shift, his eyes scanning readouts about the plants current levels of energy production, performance ratings, safety ranges, and other general information that was all digitally tracked, recorded, and adjusted. It was an easy task that often required little effort or exertion, and was, in Jeremiahs opinion, somewhat beneath an individual with PhD's in both Nuclear Physics and Applied Nuclear Engineering, even if it did pay well. Still, a job was a job…

"Another late night?"

Jeremiah was snapped from his silent thoughts by the voice, and almost jumped out of his seat when he heard it. He turned from the window as a slightly older man took the seat across form him. His name was Charles Montgomery, the third. He insisted that everyone call him "Monty". He was tall and well-built for a man his age, late fifties to early sixties. His head was completely bald, all the hair seemingly choosing to migrate to the great white beard and mustache that covered the bottom half of his face. He was a pleasant man of British descent; his thick accent present in nearly every word he uttered.

Jeremiah had seen him more times than he could recall in his last two years working for the plant, had even dined with him in one of the many cafeterias from time to time. He would often regale Jeremiah with tales of his youth, of life growing up in Britain, his journey to America, and often retold his favorite story repeatedly (and each time with the same level of excitement and enthusiasm); the first time he ever saw Superman.

Jeremiah liked "Monty".

"It was." Jeremiah replied with a smile. "I see you're getting out a little later than usual yourself." He noted.

"Indeed. Apparently, our head man, or rather, my fellow bald-headed man," he removed his ever present cap and rubbed his smooth dome, "Mr. Luther is do in for a visit, read 'Inspection', next week. The plants all the buzz over it."

Jeremiah recalled reading an email to the fact, but quickly added it to the spam and other various items in his mail-clients trash bin. While he understood the excitement the company CEO would generate with an on-site visit, and presumable inspection, Jeremiah was certain that he had little to worry about. For one, Jeremiahs office was located two levels below ground, in a remote area of the plant that was so close to the reactor core, he had to keep the AC running non-stop. And second, in his two years of working at the plant, Jeremiah had seen Lex Luthor exactly two times; the first during the orientation video when he was hired, and the second during a company holiday party where Lex Luther appeared, said a little speech, then soon after vanished.

"I remember seeing an email about it." Jeremiah said evenly. It wasn't that he didn't like Lex Luthur, point to fact, he didn't really have one opinion about the man one way or the other. He just didn't see what all the fuss was about. As far as he was concerned, Lex Luthur was just the name that was signed at the bottom of the paycheck he received every other week.

"Yes, well," Monty continued. "All of us in administration are chasing are proverbial tails behind it all. Damned headache if you ask me. I say send the ol' chap an email and a gift basket and be done with the whole business."

Jeremiah smiled at that. Monty always had that effect on people. He seemed to be able to a make anyone smile.

"Tell, me…" he pressed on. "How's that adorable woman you've married? What was her name?"

"Lisa." Jeremiah answered with a blush.

"Ahh, yes. The lovely Lisa. Tell me, has she come to her senses and left you in pursuit of a real man? An Englishman perhaps?"

"Not on your life." Jeremiah beamed proudly. "She hates the English!"

Monty snorted. "No accounting for taste I suppose. She is with you after all."

They both laughed pleasantly at that.

"I heard tell a rumor that she has a bun in the oven." Monty probed.

"Five months." Jeremiah answered proudly, the smile on his face stretching from both ears. "We just finished the nursery this weekend."

Monty clapped his hands together and sat up in his seat. "Splendid! Splendid, indeed! Congratulations, old boy!" Monty reached across and grabbed Jeremiahs hands, shaking them earnestly. "How's the young lady getting on then? Morning sickness and all that? Strange cravings, eh?"

"Sickness has come and gone, thank God." Jeremiah answered. "No strange cravings yet either. She had a check up Friday afternoon. The doctor says both she and the baby are doing just fine. We got to hear the heartbeat and had an ultrasound done. It's the coolest thing! We already have pictures of the baby… in color."

"I look forward to seeing them!" Monty replied. "Have they determined the child's gender yet? Don't tell me you're one of those silly gits that are on about not wanting to know. 'Boy or girl, it doesn't matter as long as it's healthy'; and all that nonsense."

Jeremiah laughed again. "No. We wanted to know. It's a boy."

Monty slapped his hand to his forehead and winched at the news. "Good God, what a tragedy!"

"What?" Jeremiah asked. "What's wrong?"

"You mean to tell me there's going to be tiny version you running around?" he said all serious, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Jeremiah frowned at him. Monty began to smile. "Let's just pray the little lad gets most of his mother features! At least then the poor sod will have a chance in the world."

They both laughed again.

"Is Lisa getting plenty of rest and all that?"

"Strangely enough," Jeremiah answered. "All she wants to do is paint and sculpt. She spends almost all her time down in the basement; the landlord let her convert it into her studio. She's either down in the bowls of the building, or at her school teaching art classes. She says 'her creative energy has never been more intense'! Sometimes I have to drag her kicking and screaming up to bed!"

"I imagine that's how the conception happened as well." Monty joked.

Jeremiah shot him a look that was half smile, half frown. Monty winked back.

They sat there in silence for a moment.

"Touched by God." Monty said softly.

"Beg your pardon?" Jeremiah puzzled.

Monty smiled and leaned forward. "Some men go through their entire lives looking at the sky, searching for direction and purpose. They live and die feeling empty and hollow, never having known a moment of peace or clarity." He reached out and placed a hand on Jeremiahs shoulder. "Some men, take a moment to look at their lives, to truly take stock of all they have to cherish and be thankful for; a good job, a beautiful wife, a healthy baby. They see these things, and in that moment, they know what its like to be touch by God."

Jeremiah looked at the man across from him; a man nearly twenty years his senior and from a world away. A man that he suddenly felt closer to than any other man he had ever met before in his life.

"Cherish these moments, lad. They are rare gifts indeed."

"Approaching Metro Bay Pier." an automated voice announced over the ferry's intercom. "Please be sure not to leave any personal belonging onboard."

Monty patted his shoulder and sat back in his chair. Jeremiah glanced out the window. He could see the pier in front of him, a large slab of rock and concrete that protruded out over the water. The parking structure was four stories high and about the length and width of a football field. Bright lights kept it well illuminated at night; an attempt to deter any would be muggers, and help many of the employees that left in the late or early morning hours feel a little safer when walking to their cars.

But, those were not the only lights that illuminated the pier tonight. Red and Blue lights flashed in a steady pattern across the parking structure. Police lights. Jeremiah wondered what they were for.

"Well then…"

Jeremiah turned his attention back to Monty, who he had honestly forgotten was there for a moment.

"I will be sure to pack a pair of my finest cigars and we shall meet in the veranda tomorrow and celebrate properly! Is six o'clock good for you?"

Jeremiah looked back at the pier. The boat was slowing now, the wide passenger loading ramp at the end stern of the ferry lowering into place.

"Six o'clock sounds fine." he muttered.

"Splendid!" Monty stood, pulled on his over coat, scooped up his briefcase, and replaced his cap atop his bald head.

He extended his hand to Jeremiah, who took it and shook it.

"Until tomorrow then." Monty said as her turned and headed towards the ferry's exit. "Give my regards to the misses."

"I will." Jeremiah called after him.

Monty raised his hand to his friend as he disappeared out the exit.

Jeremiahs attention turned back to the window. He could see a police cruiser now. The passengers on the ferry exited via the ramp. He could see two officers standing at the foot of the ramp. One was holding what appeared to be a photograph, but Jeremiah couldn't make out of who or what? They showed it to all the passengers as the exited. Most of them shook their heads or raised their shoulders, indicating they didn't know who or what they were looking for.

All except for Monty.

Jeremiah watched the older man step of the ramp. He watched the Police officer step towards him and show him the photograph. He watched Monty pull a pair of glasses from his breast pocket, and take the photograph in his hands. He even watched the look of concern spread over his friends face. Monty looked back towards the ferry, towards the window that even now Jeremiah was looking out of. He watched his friend nod slowly, and point in his direction.

 _"What the hell is going on?"_ Jeremiah thought, his pulse speeding slightly.

He gathered his belongings; his own briefcase and overcoat, and headed for the exit.

The police officers were at the top of the ramp when he emerged from the main cabin. They looked from him to the photo and back again, and then stepped forward.

"Jeremiah Kuttler?" one asked.

"I'm Jeremiah Kuttler. What's going on?"

"Sir, we need you to come with us." the other offered.

"Is something wrong?" Jeremiah asked. "Is this about my brother or something?"

"Sir, well explain everything to you. We just need you to come with us."

Fear and anger mixed inside him. "Look, I'm not going anywhere until someone tells me exactly what's going on! If my idiot little brother has gotten in trouble again."

"Sir," the officer interrupted. "There's been an accident."

The anger inside him just disappeared. The fear quadrupled. "An accident?! W-what kind of accident?"

"There was… a fire…" one of the officers began. The other gave him a stern look that cut him of mid-sentence.

"A f-f-fire!" Jeremiah stammered. "W-W-Where? What does that h-h-have to do with m-m-me?"

"Mr. Kuttler, please," the first officer said gently. "If you would just come with us."

Thousands of thoughts raced through his mind and his heart began to pound in his chest. He was scared. More scared than he could ever remember being in his life. Something had happened. Something bad. Of that he was sure.

He closed his eyes and took a deep, trembling breath. He said a quick silent prayer.

Then he went with the two men in uniforms.

Metropolis City Morgue was located in the basement level of Metropolis General Hospital. By the time the Police cruiser pulled in front of the buildings main entrance, Jeremiah was as pale as a ghost and twice as silent.

Once they had him securely in the rear of the cruiser, the Police officers had explained everything. They told him about the fire, about Superman, about the basement; everything.

Jeremiah just sat, and listened. He hadn't said a word since. He didn't cry, he didn't scream, or yell, or curse, or try to break anything. He just sat there, in the back seat of the police cruiser, staring out the window as they drove.

No, the tears didn't come until later. Until he was standing inside the morgue, next to a large metal table, looking down at his wife, everything but her head covered with a white sheet. After he had nodded to the medical examiner, and properly "identified" the body. That's when the tears came.

Jeremiah cried harder than he ever cried in his life.

And he didn't stop for five days.


	5. Chapter 5

The sky over Kansas was just as clear and dark, the moon just as pale and bright, as the skies over Metropolis.

He could have gone to the Fortress. He could have gone to the apartment and waited for Lois. But neither of those places truly offered him as much comfort. Not like here. Not like home.

The Kent farm was more than forty acres of prime American farm land. Gone were the horses and cows; his parents, Jonathan and Martha Kent, having been retired for years, opted to simply enjoy life on a day to day bases. But the farm "feel" was always there. A feeling that Clark Kent, Superman, could feel even as his feet touched down next to the barn.

It was nearly four a.m. Superman could already hear his parents breathing heavy, his fathers snoring lightly.

Superman stood in the clearing in between the house and the farm for a long moment. His father's pick-up was parked there, and on the other side, a tractor.

He approached the tractor, eyeing it with appreciation. It was new; the showroom wax and finish still gleaming in the moonlight. His hands slid over the smooth metal, felt the soft leather of the seat.

 _"Superman, why didn't you save them?"_

He closed his eyes and lowered his head and cursed himself. "Why?" he asked himself, his voice little more than a breath.

 _"Superman, why didn't you get them out the basement?"_

"Why?" he asked again, his voice heavy with sorrow and pain.

 _"Superman, why did you let the die?"_

He opened his eyes and caught his reflection in the polished metal of the tractor. His eyes were red and burning, but not from tears; fire leaked from his normally blue orbs.

"Why!?" he shouted. His hands tensed with rage and frustration. The polished metal crumbled like paper beneath his might. "WHY?!" he yelled. The tractor was over his head now. "WHY!? WHY!? WHY!?" He twisted and flung the tractor into the air with all his incredible might. Faster than any rocket or missile man ever made, the tractor shot into the sky. Within seconds, it was gone from sight.

Superman slumped to his knees in the dirt driveway of his parents' farm. A dozen different emotions swirled inside him. Frustration, sorrow, disappointment, those were just a few; but the one that stood out the most was anger. He was very, vary angry… angry with himself. He was angry with himself for not saving them; angry with himself for failing them.

The back door to the house swung open and his father was standing in the doorway with a shotgun aimed. "What in blue blazes is going on out here?!" He shouted. A moment later, the porch light flashed to life. Jonathan Kent scanned the area, his eyes quickly finding the small form with the red cape. A red cape with a yellow triangulated "S" logo.

"Clark?" Jonathan breathed. "Clark is that you?"

"Clark?" this voice was his mothers. Martha pushed past Jonathan and went down the steps. She was by her son's side a few moments later. Superman continued to kneel there, his eyes staring blankly at nothing.

Martha kneeled beside him and slowly wrapped her hands around his head, pulling him to her bosom.

"Oh, Clark…" she whispered. "It's okay, son. It's okay…"

Jonathan joined them then. He said nothing, but placed his hand gently on the head his son and caressed it softly. Together, Jonathan and Martha Kent did exactly what parents should; they comforted their son.

A half an hour later they were all seated at the kitchen table. Clark had changed from his "suit", to a pair of old jeans and a tee-shirt. He was sitting with his head low, a simmering cup of coffee cradled in his hands. Jonathan was sitting beside him, sipping his own cup of joe and working through a slice of apple pie.

Martha was standing next to the kitchen counter, a phone nestled between her head and shoulder. She was pouring herself a cup of coffee as she spoke. "Well, we just wanted you to know he was here, didn't want you to worry and all… Of course we did. It was on all the stations… Well, I figured he'd head here or to the fortress…"

Martha replaced the coffee pot and padded over to the refrigerator, removing a small cup of fresh cream, pouring and then stirring some into her coffee. "Well…" she continued. "You just tell Perry White that my son is visiting his parents, and he'll be back when he can." She added some sugar and took a few sips. "Of course, Lois. Anytime. Love you too. Bye."

Martha hung up the phone and walked to the table. She leaned over and kissed the top of Clarks head as she went.

"Is she upset?' he asked.

"No." Martha answered. "She was just a little worried is all. She said, well, I'm sure you heard her."

"Yeah." Clark breathed.

Silence then. Jonathan and Martha traded uneasy glances between sips of coffee and bites of pie. They looked from each other, to Clark, who continued to stare blankly at the table, and then back at each other. No one said a word.

"I was right there!" Clark said finally.

"We know, son." Jonathan replied.

"No." Clark said, pushing himself away from the table and raising to his feet suddenly. "No!" he fumed. "I was right there. No more than thirty feet above them. I should have heard them. I should have checked the foundation again. If I would have known it was a basement… I could have… I could have saved them."

"Clark," Martha said softly.

"What's the use of having all this strength, all this power, if I can't save three people when their dying thirty feet away from me?"

"Clark, the reports said that it was impossible to determine when those people died. They could have been dead before you even got there."

"Or they could have been banging against a lead door, screaming and crying, and begging for me to save them!" he responded fiercely.

"Wouldn't you have heard them if they were?" Martha asked.

"That's just it!" Clark began pacing back and forth. "I was so focused on the fire! I wasn't really 'listening' for anything else. There was so much static from outside; the crowd, the fire engines, everything! I should have focused more. I should have… I should have…"

"You should have what?" Jonathan asked, sitting his cup down with enough force the contents splashed onto the tabletop. Clark and Martha both looked at him with a mixture of shock and confusion.

"Well?" he asked again.

"I should have saved them." Clark responded resolutely.

"Clark," Jonathan said, rising from his chair. "Right now there's an elderly woman who gets to see the sunrise today because of you."

"And three that never will again." Clark rebutted. "Because of me!"

"And dozens of families who still have a place to call home because of you! Not to mention the rest of the entire world! How many times have you saved the planet, Clark? Either by yourself, or with the rest of the 'League'? How many times have you pulled someone, anyone, everyone, all of us; from the brink of death, and given us one more day to live?"

"But I didn't save them, dad! I failed them!"

"Damnit, Clark! Just because you have God like abilities that doesn't make you God! You can't save everyone!"

Clark looked at his father, his mouth set to respond harshly. But instead, he was silent as his words sunk in.

Slowly, Clark lowered his eyes and the tension left his shoulders.

His mother stood then, and was beside him. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him gently.

"We can't even begin to imagine what it's like to have all that strength." she began. "All that power. But life and death are beyond the power of all of us. Even you, Clark. Right now, at this very moment, someone in this world is dying, and there isn't anything you can do about it. When the good lord decides it's time, then it's time…"

"But I was there, Ma! I was right there!" he whispered.

"I know. I know." she comforted him. "And you did all you could have done. You saved everyone you knew about. You saved the entire block. You did everything you could do. Everything you knew to do. No one who loves you will blame you for it. You have given all of us a second chance more times than any of us can count; more times than most of us know about. Don't beat yourself up over this, Clark. You have nothing to be ashamed of." She squeezed him a little tighter then. And he hugged her back.

"Forgive yourself, Clark." She whispered. "Forgive yourself."

"I'll try mom." he whispered back.

They stood there holding each other for a long moment.

Jonathan slapped his hands together with excitement, drawing their attention to him. "I got just the thing to cheer you up, Clark!" he exclaimed. "Bought me a new tractor!" he said with joy. Clark's eyes went wide. "They just delivered it yesterday! Haven't even taken it for a ride around the farm yet. Figure I'll let you have first crack at it! What do ya say!?"

Clark's heart was pounding again, for a completely different reason.

"Dad…" he began, slowly pushing his mother away and preparing himself for what was to come. "About your tractor…"


	6. Chapter 6

"Swig" was the type of bar people went to for one of two reasons. The first was to drink. The second was to get drunk.

Jeremiah walked into it with his mind set on the latter; the tall, thin man in round glasses right behind him.

The bar was the size of the average living room, roughly twenty feet by fifteen feet. The actual bar took up most of the space; the counter top stretching the length of the room, with a fold-up section at the far end, currently in the 'up' position. Stools were lined in front of it. A large man with a larger pot belly was standing behind the bar. He was holding a clip board and was looking over the large collection of bottled alcohol that lined the wall, and spread over three shelves.

The opposite wall was lined with small booths; four in all, each with a small square table in between sets of back to back two-seaters. There was a jukebox, and a small flat-screen television hung over the shelves of liquor. In the rear of the bar were two doors, one marked "Private", the other marked with a unisexual bathroom placard.

The bar was nearly empty, save for the bartender and an older man that sat near the bars center, his head slumped over his crossed arms.

Jeremiah and his taller companion took a seat opposite one another in the furthest booth. The bartender watched them as they walked; eyeing them suspiciously.

Jeremiah didn't look at him, and when he sat he didn't speak. The other man didn't speak either, but looked at the Jeremiah compassionately.

"Stacy!" the bartender barked.

A few moments passed and the door marked "Private" swung open. A woman of early twenties, with dark black hair and even darker eye shadow walked out. She was wearing a black t-shirt with the symbol for anarchy in white across the front. Her skirt was a micro mini, dark blue plaid in color, with black and white lines. Black leggings and black knee high platform boots with bright silver buckles completed the gothic look. It was all topped off with the bright pink highlights streaking through her hair.

She looked first at the bartender, who had unceremoniously gone back to his inventory, then over to the two men seated at the booth.

She walked over to them; her boots making her appear over six feet in height. She looked down at them, here face bland and emotionless.

"What'll it be?" she asked after a long moment.

"Jack. Two glasses." Jeremiah answered. "Leave the bottle…"

"Actually," the other man began. "I was just going to have a glass of water… with a slice of lemon if you have it."

The waitress glared at him.

"Damnit, Noah!" Jeremiah said looking at the man across from him.

"It's three in the afternoon, Mai." Noah pleaded.

"Noah, I just buried my wife and unborn son!" he took in a deep breath and let it out with a shudder.

"Fine." Noah surrendered. "But only one. You know I'm not a drinker…"

Jeremiah looked at the waitress, his eyes a mixture of pain and anger. "Jack." He repeated. "Two glasses. Leave the bottle."

The waitress looked at the man with naked emotion etched across his face for a moment, and then quietly went to get their drinks. She returned quickly, placing two shot glasses in front of each of them, filling each with whiskey, and finally placed the half full bottle on the table between them.

Jeremiah grabbed his glass and devoured the contents quickly. He held the glass to his mouth and he winched at the burning sensation running down his throat. He closed his eyes, breathed the fire out of his lungs, and then placed the glass back on the table. He looked at the man across from him.

Noah sighed. He grabbed his glass and eyed it cautiously. He looked from it, to the man across from him, and back again. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and took his drink to his lips.

A moment later, he was coughing harshly.

Jeremiah took the bottle and poured himself another drink. He drank it quickly, the burning less intense than the first time.

Noah looked at him through red, teary eyes. He cleared his throat and swallowed hard. Jeremiah was working on his third drink by then.

Noah wiped his mouth, and took in a heavy (and still rather fiery) breath. "How's your hand?" he asked.

Jeremiah put his now empty glass on the table and was silent as the whiskey worked down his throat. He raised his hand before his eyes and tried to ball it into a fist. Pain shot up his arm. He winched. "Fractured, I think."

"I still can't believe you hit him." Noah remarked.

Jeremiah tried again to make a fist, and again, the pain was instant and intense. He lowered his hand and looked at the man across from him.

"Mom say's hello." He said.

"I was hoping to see her." Noah responded. "Why didn't she come?"

"She's on oxygen now." Jeremiah explained. "The doctors said it was probably best if she didn't fly."

Noah nodded. "That's too bad. She would have liked to see 'big blue' in person."

Jeremiah laughed slightly. "Yeah. She always asks me if I ever see him whenever she calls."

Silence then. Long and tense. Jeremiah had another drink. Noah didn't.

"She say's you never call." Jeremiah said finally.

"She told me not to." Noah explained. "After I got arrested in Gotham, she told me I was dead to her and not to call her ever again. Couldn't handle me being a criminal I suppose."

Jeremiah laughed. "It wasn't that. She was too embarrassed about that damn costume you were caught in! A damn giant calculator! Where the hell did you find number buttons that big anyway?"

Noah tried not to, but began to laugh as well. "I made them, thank you very much." He retorted.

"And purple?" Jeremiah laughed harder. "Why the hell was it purple? What the hell did you expect people to do when they saw a guy dressed up in a giant purple calculator outfit; cower in fear and terror?"

"Go to hell!" Noah spat, still laughing himself. "I thought it was a good idea!"

"And what the hell was that thing on your head?" Jeremiah continued, slapping the table and nearly falling over in his seat. "What the hell was that hat supposed to be?"

"It… it…" Noah tried to explain through his own laughter. "It was supposed to be an asterisk!"

Jeremiah and Noah both roared with laughter at that. They laughed long and loud. Tears ran freely from their eyes. Tears of joy. Tears of pain.

"You know what the worst part of it was?" Noah went on. "When Batman; you know, the biggest, baddest, hard-ass of them all; when he turns me into the cops; I swear I caught him laughing at me as they took me away."  
They laughed for another few moments, and then regained their composure.

"Mom asks if I ever talk to you." Jeremiah offered; the laughter fading. " _Have you heard from 'Mai'? Is he staying out of trouble? Has he gotten a real job yet?"_

"What do you tell her?"

"I told her you're a drug dealer."

Noah smiled. "I guess that's not bad; considering the alternative."

Jeremiah poured another drink, devouring it and placing his glass back on the table rapidly. He stared at the empty glass in front of him. "Noah, I need your help." he said finally.

"Anything!" Noah offered. "Money, a place to stay, you name it."

Jeremiah poured another shot, took it, and slammed the glass on the table with a winch. He looked at the man sitting across from him; a man with the same eyes, the same lips, a nose like his moms, and his fathers chin. His younger brother, Noah Kuttler; known to the criminal underworld as "The Calculator"

"I'm going to kill him." He said softly.

Noah glanced over towards the bar. "I'm getting a little hungry. This whisky's going straight to my head. I wonder if they serve food here. Where'd that waitress go?"

"Noah." Jeremiah pleaded.

"I could really go for a burger," Noah continued, still searching for the waitress. "Hell, I'd settle for a plate of nachos."

"Noah, I'm serious!" Jeremiah fumed.

"No you're not!" Noah replied sternly, looking squarely at the other man. "What you are is grief stricken!" he said, lowering his voice as he spoke. "You're angry, you're frustrated, you're hurt, and you're lost. And you want to lash out and take revenge on the one person you think you can point the finger at. But trust me when I tell you, big bro, that's a road you don't want to go down! Not with him. Not with any of them."

"Noah, he let my wife, my child; he let them die!"

"The forensic results were inconclusive, Mai. They can't tell if they died before of after Superman got there."

"HE LET THEM DIE!" Jeremiah slammed his hand down with enough force to shake the glasses and tables. Pain shot up his arm. He winced and pulled his hand into his lap.

The bartender was looking their way now, as was the man that was previously asleep.

Noah turned and looked at them both evenly, his eyes filled with warning and dark intentions. Both the bartender and the other man turned away.

Noah then turned the look on his older brother. "You know what I do for a living, right?" he asked. Jeremiah hesitated, and then nodded. "Then let me make this very clear: Many people have paid me a lot of money… a _lot_ of money… to find a way to do it: to kill him. I'm talking research, experiments, limitless resources; the works! I hired every evil genius and mad scientist on earth, and even a few that weren't. I spent seven months in an underground lab, with monkeys spliced with Kryptonian genes and enough kryptonite to make a scale model of Mt. Rushmore. And do you know what I discovered?" Noah asked, rubbing his hands together and sitting forward.

Jeremiah licked his lips leaned forward eagerly.

"It. Can. Not. Be. Done." Noah said plainly.

Jeremiah blinked. He looked at his younger brother in disbelief. "What are you saying? He's immortal?"

"No. Just the closest thing to it this world will ever see."

Jeremiah pressed on. "What about Kryptonite?"

Noah snorted. "He's soaked up so much yellow sun radiation that the only thing 'K' does to him now is make him dizzy and nauseous. Sure it weakens him, but to kill him; you'd need three thousand grams of liquid 'K' pumped directly into his heart. Of course only a diamond tipped syringe attached to a five hundred ton hydraulic piston would pierce his skin, and that's only after you had him directly exposed to a red sun UV lamp for over seventy-eight hours." Noah looked at Jeremiah. "Do you have a diamond tipped syringe?" he asked. Jeremiah frowned at him. "No? What about three thousand grams of liquid 'K'?" Jeremiah looked down at the table. "Or a plan to lure him away from the rest of the League for more than seventy-eight hours while you expose him to a constant barrage of red sun rays, from a high powered UV lamp, which you don't have either; all the while keeping the rest of them occupied long enough to prevent them from putting out an all points bulletin when he goes missing? Which should be the easy part, since there's only, what, forty, maybe fifty members now."

Noah grabbed the bottle of whisky, poured a drink for himself and downed it quickly. He rasped as his throat and lungs burned, wiping the salivation from his lips as it formed.

"It can't be done." He repeated once his lungs and eyes cleared. Jeremiah continued to look blankly at the table. "For better of for worse…" Noah continued. "Superman is here to stay. Stupid glasses and all." he breathed.

Jeremiah looked at him. "What did you just say?"

"I said 'Superman is here to stay.'"

"No." Jeremiah urged, sitting up in his seat. "After that! You said something about glasses."

Noah blinked. "No I didn't." he said, a little quicker than he would have liked.

Jeremiahs eye narrowed. He leaned forward. "You know who he is, don't you?"

"What are you talking about?" Noah replied, leaning back as he spoke. "He's Superman."

"Everyone knows he's not Superman all the time. That he walks around as someone else."

"I-I don't know… I don't know w-w-who he is…" Noah reached for the bottle of whiskey and Jeremiah grabbed his hands.

"You only stutter when you lie, Noah." Jeremiah said evenly.

"T-that's n-n-not true…" Noah answered, and then cursed. "It's the alcohol. I haven't eaten all day!"

"Damn it, Noah! Help me!" Jeremiah pleaded.

"I am trying to help you, for God's sake!" Noah spat. He sat back and eyed his brother.

"He's an alien, Mai; from a planet hundreds of light years away from here. You get me? He can fly! He has super strength! He's virtually invulnerable! Super speed! Super hearing! Super breath! X-ray vision! Telescopic vision! Microscopic vision! Heat vision! Hell, I'm still trying to figure out a power he doesn't have!"

"What's your point?" Jeremiah asked fiercely.

"My point is that he's not human! He's the closest thing this planets seen to a living God. He's a kid with a magnifying glass on a sunny day and we're all ants! But everyday, he's out there, saving as many of us as he can, doing what ever he can to make the world a little brighter, when he could be burning each and every one of us for his own personal amusement. And there wouldn't be a damn thing any of us could do to stop it. None of us! Not the good guys. Not the bad guys. He could wipe them all out and barely break a sweat."

Noah poured a drink for himself and downed it, the harsh affects barely registering.

"There's a reason Gods were worshipped in ancient civilizations." he went on. "To keep them happy! To keep them appeased. Because, even back then, they knew: it's better to have God's blessing, than to feel a God's wrath."

He leaned forward and spoke low and even. "Do I know who he is when he's not Superman? Yeah I know." He admitted. "A client figured it out and that little tidbit of information was that price he paid for a service I provided. And it was at that moment that I realized what I'm about to share with you…"

Noah glanced around the bar, and then licked his lips and leaned over the table. "The man that's walking around out there when Superman's not, the people he loves, the job he goes to everyday; that's him being human. That's him connecting to us tiny, little, insignificant ants. That's him keeping himself in check. Because he knows, just like I know, that it's better for him to be a normal, average human part of the time; than Superman all of the time. Being human keeps him grounded. If he loses that, if he loses his humanity, if he loses the people close to him, the people who matter the most, then he loses touch with all of us. Then, all you have left is that mean little kid with the big magnifying glass and a sunny day that never ends!"

Noah took another drink and looked at the man sitting across from him. His older brother. The good one. The man whose eyes were dark orbs; the man with the slumped shoulders; the man who's spirit was broken.

"I know what your feeling, Mai. I know it hurts. It hurts so bad you just want to take a knife to your chest and carve out your own heart, just so you won't feel anything anymore. You want to just crawl into a hole and cover yourself with every rock you can find." Noah grabbed the bottle and poured another drink. He looked at the clear caramel hued liquid for a long moment. "You feel like I felt… when dad died."

He drank.

Jeremiah looked at him as he did; looked at him as if seeing him for the first time.

"As far as I know, and I know a lot, there's only two, maybe three of us, who 'know'. And you know what? There's a reason we don't go after him; in or out of costume. It's because we know we can't beat him. We all know it." Noah thought for a moment about the client that revealed Superman's secret to him in the first place. "Well… most of us." He looked back to his brother. "Let it go, Mai." Noah said lowering his glass to the table. "Please… just let it go."

Jeremiah thought long and hard about what his younger brother had just said. If he was right about anything, it was the pain. Raw, unyielding, and all consuming. Jeremiah did, in fact, want to carve his own heart out. He did want to crawl into a deep dark hole and never come out again. He did want to just lie down and die.

And he did, more than anything else, want revenge on the man responsible.

"You still with me there, big bro?" Noah mused, his words slurring slightly.

Jeremiah blinked, and then looked at him. A smile slowly spread across his face. "You're right, Noah." He said finally, his voice low and even. "You're right… I… It just hurts. It hurts bad, Noah."

Noah reached across the table and grabbed his brothers' hand and squeezed. "I know, man. I know. But you just have to get through it. And I'm here for you, Mai. I'm right here."

"Just do me two favors." Jeremiah began.

"Anything." Noah answered. "Almost anything…" he corrected himself with a lopsided grin.

Jeremiah returned his smile. "First, let go of my hand…" Noah quickly released his grip on his brother's hand. Jeremiah winched and flexed his hand instinctively as he did.

"Sorry." Noah offered. Jeremiah smiled. "What's the second thing?"

Jeremiah grabbed the bottle of booze, filled his glass and his brothers to the brim.

"Have another drink with me." Jeremiah requested. With almost no hesitation, Noah grabbed his glass and lifted it into the air. Jeremiah lifted his own glass as well.

"To Lisa!" Noah proclaimed.

"To Lisa!" Jeremiah repeated solemnly. "And Jeremiah Jr.!"

They drank. And they drank. And they drank.

Noah awoke the next morning in a hotel bed that was partially covered in vomit. He sat up quickly and instantly regretted it, the spinning room a reminder of the night before. Bits and pieces floated back to him; flashes of him singing, a glimpse of both he and Jeremiah crying, him saying something rude and suggestive to the waitress. But everything else was a blur; how much had he drunk? How did he get back to the hotel? Where was Jeremiah?

He looked at the bedside table, the blur on the small clock making him aware of his missing glasses. He searched the bed and found them finally; also partially covered in what was left of whatever Noah had eaten last night.

He used a clean part of the bedspread to wipe them and looked at the clock again. It was almost two in the afternoon. Noah sighed. How long was he out? He couldn't tell or remember. His head felt as if the" Atom", a microscopic sized super-hero, was stuck on the inside of his skull and was trying to punch his way out.

He closed his eyes and took a series of slow deep breaths. It didn't help; a wave of nausea washed over him and he had to put his hand over his mouth to battle it. He opened his eyes, now slightly teary, his vision blurry even with his glasses.

It was then that he noticed the small note.

It was on the floor, next to a trashcan full of things Noah didn't want to look at. He concentrated on the small piece of paper, leaning forward with a moan and another wave of nausea, grapping it quickly, and sat back upright, taking a few labored breaths…

 _"I'm never drinking again…"_ he thought to himself.

The note was written on a piece of hotel letterhead in Jeremiahs handwriting:

"Noah,

Thank you for the information. You really are the best 'information broker' in the world… And you're a really great little brother.

I know what I must do.

Don't try to contact me.

Love always,

Jeremiah"

Noah's head was spinning for reasons that had nothing to do with alcohol. _"What the hell is he talking about?"_ Noah wondered. _"What information? What the hell did I tell him? Oh God, Jeremiah… what are you about to do?"_

His vision swam and his stomach somersaulted.

Noah grabbed the trashcan, lowered his head, and realized that, much like the contents of his stomach, Noah may have just lost his brother.


	7. Chapter 7

Nearly a year had passed since the brownstone fire.

Since; there had been two averted apocalypses, a repelled alien invasion, four trials against Lex Luthor for crimes ranging from attempted murder, to treason; all of which he was acquitted for. There was a brawl with Metallo, a quick fight with Banshee, and even a week where he had switched personas with Batman…

In that entire time, Clark realized one very important thing:

He hated driving!

The morning rush-hour commute through Metropolis was to blame.

Between the hours of six and eight am, Metro Parkway lived up to its namesake; a six-lane parking lot full of cars, vans, SUV's, school buses, and delivery trucks; all desperately vying for that extra foot of road, that extra mile per hour of speed that would ensure they got to work on time and got to keep their jobs one more day.

Six lanes, seven hundred vehicles, and an average speed of eight miles per hour.

Clark looked to his right and saw a man ride past on a bicycle.

He took a deep breath and counted to ten. The urge to fly himself, and his car, straight to the top of the Daily Planet had never been stronger.

He felt his cell phone vibrating and pulled it from his breast pocket. Lois's name and picture appeared on the small screen. He smiled.

"Hi." He answered.

"Hey, Smallville." Lois's said loudly. The background noise was thunderous. Clark's super-hearing could make out the roar of a helicopter engine, the sound of small vehicles moving, presumably trucks and the like, the sound of men shouting orders back and forth, all in a language he hadn't learned yet. "I just wanted to tell you I'm on the ground." Lois continued. "We're at a small airstrip about thirty miles south of the Ronne Ice Shelf. We have about twenty minutes before the chopper leaves, then another hour or so until we get to the research facility."

Clark knew that by "we", Lois meant herself and a small group of reporters and scientific journalist from around the world that had received a special invitation to cover a groundbreaking experiment being held in Antarctica. The research was into a new type of nuclear energy that was based on sub-zero fusion, produced zero waste, zero radiation, and nearly three hundred times the energy of traditional nuclear fusion.

"I'm glad you made it." Clark said. "But I still don't understand why you didn't let me fly you there myself and forgo all the hassle."

"We had this conversation already, Clark." Lois replied tersely. "For one thing, we don't need people asking questions about why 'Superman' is giving Lois Lane-Kent, a married woman, a personal escort to the middle of nowhere. Second, I can barely believe I got invited to this thing in the first place! You should see some of the faces here! Henrich van Lornsen is here, Clark. He won the Nobel Prize and the Pulitzer for his work in Nuclear energy. Peter Larsen, Scott Helms, Natasha Salinkov, Dr. Amanda Madiri, the French physicist. There are some real big brains here, honey. I got a headache on the plane ride down just trying to keep up with the conversation. I already feel like a sore thumb. The last thing I need is everyone looking at me like the girl that's only here because of the date she came with. Besides, while everyone else is talking protons and neutrons, all anyone ever asks me about is 'Superman'."

"I'm sorry, honey." Clark assured her. "I'm sure there all just jealous because you're the best reporter there."

Lois laughed. "Sure… and as long as I have my spell checker handy, I'm good to go." Clark smiled at that. Although his wife could write circles around most journalists, she was a notoriously bad speller. "Listen, 'Smallville'," she continued. "There's no signal out there, even with a satellite phone. Electromagnetic interference makes it nearly impossible for anything to get through. This place is completely isolated. Plus, weather reports say there's a pretty heavy storm heading our way. You may not hear from me for a few days at best. The schedule has us back here in four days, but that's if the storm passes relatively quickly."

"Don't worry." Clark cut her off. "I think I can manage while you're gone."

"I just don't want you to go the entire time without eating anything; even if you don't technically _need_ to eat. And don't just order takeout food. It's not good for you."

"I am invulnerable." he reminded her. "Besides, it couldn't be worse than your cooking." He added under his breath.

"I heard that!" Lois spat. "Remind me if I'm wrong, but which on of us nearly burned down the kitchen trying to make a grilled cheese sandwich with his heat-vision?"

Clark laughed. "At least I didn't start a fire making a bowl of cereal!" he shot back.

"I told you! I couldn't decide if I wanted an omelet or not. I forgot to turn off the stove!"

Clark listened to his wife laugh, a sound he loved to hear, and would miss over the next few days. He heard some commotion in the background; someone shouting something.

"Clark… I have to go. They're loading the chopper."

"Lois, be careful out there. Call if you need anything."

"I just told you we wouldn't have any service there!"

"And you know I wasn't talking about using a phone." He added.

"You still keeping one ear on me?" she asked.

"Only when I have too." he admitted.

She was silent for a moment. "I love you." She said finally.

"I love you, too." He said. They hung up. Clark put his cell back into his pocket and turned his attention back to the road. His conversation with Lois lasted about three and a half minutes. In that time, as best he could tell, he had moved twenty feet.

He took in a lot of air and let it out slowly.

His fingers found the radio and switched it on. Rap music flared to life a little louder than he would have guessed; Lois's doing. She loved it. Clark's fingers ran through the presets, finally settling on a news broadcast he often listened to.

"…aking news story, and a Metro-One exclusive. The tape was delivered to our studios early this morning. Our producers have listened, and while we cannot confirm the source or the validity of the threat, it is nonetheless the responsibility of this news station to ensure the public is aware of any impending danger.

"Here it is, in its entirety: A treat against Metropolis… and against Superman."

Clark's attention turned to the radio then, his ears perking up.

"People of Metropolis…" the voice began. It was slightly distorted, the base deeper than any normal speaking voice. "I apologize for what is to follow. Some will thank me a monster for what is about to happen. Some will think me cruel; heartless. Inevitably, history will decided, but I do what needs to be done for the sake of the city. Perhaps, even the world.

"We have grown lazy, Metropolis. We have grown pampered. Like children, we have become dependent and weak. Instead of looking to ourselves, looking to one another for aid, for help, for assistance; we look to the sky for a savior. We cry out for an angel to fly in and save us on blue and crimson wings. We cry out for Superman.

"And by doing so, we become his servants. We become his slaves!

"What you need to understand, what he needs to understand, what we all need to understand… is that he can't save us. He can't save any of us. His every attempt to rescue us, to save us from criminals, conquerors, out worldly threats; all it does is sends us one step closer to complete and total submission. Submission to his will.

"It is because of this that I have chosen to take the following steps: For every person Superman saves, another shall die!"

Clark's eyes went wide.

"We must learn to live in a world where we depend on each other, not some super-powered idol. Not some golden God. Our faith and trust must be in the men and women beside us. Not in Superman.

"At eight seventeen, Tuesday morning, presumably the morning you hear this message, a tram headed for the LexCorp Hydro-Nuclear Power plant will be destroyed. The track will be demolished and the tram will plummet into the bay. Everyone onboard will die. If somehow, the forces of the Metropolis City Police Department, Harbor Patrol, or even the Fire Department manage to save the passengers of the tram, then no harm will come to them. However, if Superman saves the tram, if he saves the passengers onboard, a number equal to that of the passengers on the tram will be killed in their place.

"It's a hard lesson we must learn, Metropolis. It's a lesson we all need to understand. Superman can't save us. We must save ourselves!"

Silence followed for a moment.

"Well," the newscaster said, clearing his throat. "As I mentioned before, this message was just delivered to our studio. Again, we cannot verify the validity of these… these treats against the city. Local authorities have been notified, and an investigation I'm sure will follow, but I want to urge the people of Metropolis to not succumb to any fear or paranoia; to remain calm and…"

Clark had stopped listening. He looked at the dashboard clock. The digital numbers read eight fifteen. Clark opened the door to his car and jumped out to a chorus of honking horns and rude remarks. He dashed down the street and ducked into the first ally he found. A second later, at the ally's far end, Superman took off into the sky.


	8. Chapter 8

"…a tram headed for the LexCorp Hydro-Nuclear Power plant will be destroyed…"

"That's us!" someone yelled.

Charles Montgomery the Third was sitting next to a window on the tram. The three section shuttle glided smoothly along the raised tracks over Metro-Bay, the LexCorp Hydro-Nuclear a mere three miles away. The water below shimmered like crystal, the sky above was clear and blue, the sun bright and high. It was a beautiful day, Monty admitted. And it had just turned to a nightmare…

The trams radio station had been preset to the Metro-One News Network. The idea was that the choice would eliminate any squabbles over what type of music would play, whether or not anyone would get offended.

Monty didn't ride the tram often. In fact, he only rode it on occasions where he spent the previous evening in the company of his special lady friend who resided near uptown Metropolis. On those occasions, he found it easier to leave his car with her, and take the tram to work, as opposed to fighting traffic trying to get to the harbor and make the ferry.

In fact, he had enjoyed such a marvelous evening with his special friend, that he remarked on what a beautiful day it was and opted to walk the four blocks to the tram station.

Now, as he sat and listened to the recording play over the trams speaker system, he was beginning to regret his decision.

"It's a hard lesson we must learn, Metropolis. It's a lesson we all need to understand. Superman can't save us. We must save ourselves!

"What time is it?" someone shouted.

"Eight fifteen." Someone answered.

"Oh my God!" a woman yelled.

"Everyone calm down!" a man shouted. "It's probably a hoax or some prank. We'll be at the plant in less than five minutes."

"Yeah, but according to that man, we only have two…" a woman commented.

"One-minute, twenty-three seconds!" this from a small man in round glasses with a balding head. He was looking at his watch intently.

Monty looked around the tram. There were just over a dozen people in this, the center section of tram. From what he remembered from the loading platform a few minutes earlier, there were nearly equal numbers in the front and rear sections as well.

The woman next to him was panting like an out of breath hound. Monty took her hand in his and patted it gently. "Easy dear. Nothing to worry over…"

The radio transmission was interrupted by the trams automated PA system. "Approaching LexCorp Hydro-Nuclear Power Plant. The current time is eight-sixteen."

"Look there." Monty continued to console her, pointing out the window. "Almost there. You can see the platform from here." And indeed, they both looked out at the gleaming steel and concrete platform that even now grew larger as the tram rapidly approached.

There was a digital clock mounted to the ceiling of the tram. Everyone was silent as all eyes turned to the clock. Some looked at their watches; some held their cell-phones in front of them. The tension was thick enough to grab and squeeze. The balding man with the large glasses was sweating profusely.

Time seemed to stand still as the bright red digital numbers remained unchanged and unblinking for what seemed to be an eternity.

Then, at last, the final digital number turned from a six… to a seven.

No one moved. No one spoke. Everyone waited on baited breath…

The tram continued to glide along smoothly.

The woman next to Monty let out a heavy sigh. Even Monty, who himself hadn't realized he was holding his breath, exhaled, and felt all the tension drain from his shoulders.

A collective sigh passed through the entire section, and through the entire tram.

"I told you!" the guy from before remarked. "It was a hoax!"

There was a loud bang and the tram lurched. Those seated were thrown sideways. Those standing were thrown forward. A woman lost her balance completely and fell to the floor. The man beside her was forced to his knees.

There was a second bang, and the tram dropped slightly and skidded to a grinding halt.

Panic and screaming followed.

"Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!" the woman next to Monty was muttering. She was now clinging to him as if he was the last solid thing in this world, her hands squeezing at his coat, her arm wrapped around his own so tight, he felt it began to go numb.

"What's happening?" someone yelled.

"We're gonna die!" someone screamed.

"Quiet! EVERYONE! QUIET!" The man from before yelled. A slow hush fell through the section. "Now the last thing we need is for all of you to start acting like a bunch of children. We need to figure a way out of this."

"Who the hell elected you leader?" someone shouted.

"Look," the man continued. "If you want to stay here and wait to see what happens next, well, good luck with that. I for one am going to try to get out of here!" He pushed his way to the side of the tram and looked out the window, down toward the water. "I think I can see a ledge." he said, craning his neck. "I think we can drop down and walk to the front of the tram…" he was already removing his overcoat as he spoke. "And from there, it's maybe five hundred yards to the platform."

"It's a seventy foot drop!" someone told him.

"Then don't fall off." he said, stuffing his coat under a seat. He pushed through to the side of the car with the doors. He rubbed his hands together for a moment then attempted to pry the doors apart.

They didn't budge. He paused for a moment, and then tried again, pulling at the doors with all his might.

They slid apart with a groan of metal and grinding gears.

Superman hovered on the other side, his hands also on the doors.

"Superman!" a woman shouted. "You've got to get us out of here." Almost everyone rushed to get a glimpse of the man of steel hovering along the side of the tram, seventy-five feet over the crystal blue waters Metropolis Bay.

"I heard the broadcast." Superman explained. "Metro Bay Fire and Rescue is on the way. I need everyone to remain calm until they arrive and get everyone off the tram."

"You want us to just wait here?" a woman asked.

"Can't you save us?" someone else asked.

"You all heard that message!" another man chimed in. "If Superman saves us, somewhere else, someone else is going to die for it!"

"He's right!" a woman offered. "If he saves us, someone else dies." she re-iterated.

"So what!?" the man at the doors said flatly. "People die everyday. I'm making sure it's not going to be me!"

"Sir," Superman began. "I know you're scared, but Metro Bay boat is almost here." Superman gestured behind himself at a trio of boats. Two were bright blue with white strips, the Captains deck raising three levels up. They both hand huge water cannons mounted at the bow and along the sides, and large extendable ladders running along the port and starboard. Each rescue vessel was over a hundred feet in length, and had MBFR painted in large white letters along the side.

The other boat was actually a double-decker ferry, courtesy of LexCorp Hydro-Nuclear.

They were moving full-speed ahead towards the tram line. Unfortunately, they were still a few hundred yards out.

Superman turned back to the man and the rest of the tram passengers.

"I want to help, but I don't want to endanger any more lives. If what this… 'terrorist' says is true… then saving you all is a death sentence for someone else."

"Our hero is right!" this from Monty himself. "While an avid fan of being rescued myself, I say let the civil servants do their job and allow Superman here to enjoy a bit of a reprieve, least we place more innocents in peril."

"I don't care about anyone else!" the man at the doors shouted. "I want off this tram!"

"What if it's someone you care about. Your family? Your kids? Your wife?"

"Who'd marry that jerk?" a woman said under her breath, but loud enough to be heard by all.

The man at the doors gave her a heated look and then continued his rant. "The trams already out of commission. Who knows what else this wack-job has in store for us! Didn't he say something about taking out the bridge? I'm not waiting around for that…"

"So far," Superman interrupted. "And as far as I can tell… only the trams power has been cut. Two small explosives were placed at the base of the trams rail system. There aren't anymore explosives on the tram."

As if on cue, a huge explosion rocked the tram-line. Superman looked to his left and saw the far end of the tramline erupt in a ball of fire and debris, flames shooting sixty feet into the air. The tramline, nearly thirty feet of track, steel, and concrete, tumbled into the bay. All the track fifty feet past the shoreline platform was now gone.

A moment later, another explosion erupted along the tracks, this time from the opposite end. Fifty feet from the plant-side platform, a ball of orange fire and black smoke shot into the air, taking much of the tramline with it. What remained fell into the bay.

"The bridge!" someone was shouting. "The bridge is blowing up!"

But Superman knew that wasn't true. He had reflexively scanned the remaining two and a half miles of track in both directions. His combined x-ray and telescopic vision found no more explosive devices along the expanse. What he did find, however, was almost as bad.

The bridge was going to collapse.

Cracks, like spider-webs, were spreading along the line like wildfire. On both ends, parts of the bridge were already starting to break away and fall into the water below. The charges were set at key structural points; cornerstones. Once they were taken out, the rest of the bridge was going to fall and there was little anyone could do to stop it.

Including Superman.

If the bridge was all metal, he could use his heat-vision to quickly weld the separated sections back together; but only the tracks themselves were metal. The remaining ninety eight percent of the expanse was all rock and thin steel support rods.

It would be like trying to keep a snowball from melting on a warm sunny day.

Superman glanced behind him. The boats were getting closer, put they would never make it in time.

He was out of options.

He turned back to the people inside the tram, some were screaming, some were crying, some were praying. All were looking at him.

Superman took in a deep breath.

"Everyone in the center section!" he ordered. He floated to the rear section and instructed everyone to get in to the middle of the tram as quickly as they could, then zipped to the front section and repeated himself. No one argued, questioned, or protested. Everyone crammed into the middle as tightly as they could. People were sitting on the laps of others; those standing were shoulder to shoulder, back to back, front to front, holding each other a little closer to make a bit more room.

Finally, the last person from the front section, the tram operator, and older gentleman with silver hair, pushed into the center section.

Superman hovered a few yards away from the tram, near the connecting piece between the front and center section. It was an accordion like attachment, made of heavy rubber, with a steel plate for walking from one section to the other.

Superman scanned it with his x-ray vision, ensuring it was completely clear. Then, fire erupted from his eyes in a thin concentrated beam. The laser cut through rubber and steel alike, sparks erupting from both the floor and ceiling. Some people yelped as the lights of the tram died out, the interior of the center compartment suddenly dim.

Once the two sections were separated, Superman zipped to the rear of the tram and repeated the process on the second adjoining section.

The center section now free, he floated to the top quickly. His initial x-ray scan revealed a steel support beam that ran the length of each section. Superman punched into the roof of the tram with both hands and grabbed the support beam now.

"Everyone hold on!" he shouted.

And lifted.

The tram rose from the track smoothly and quickly under Superman's power. Ten feet. Twenty feet. Thirty. Those closest to windows watched Metropolis Bay fall away from them as they took to the air. They watched as the tramline crumbled under its own weight, and the two remaining compartments tumbled into the bay. They watched in silence, in horror, in shock, and in awe.

With a gentle lurch, Superman headed towards the nearest platform, the plant-side platform.

He was over it in mere moments, lowering the tram gently down to a clear area of the platform, a hundred foot by eighty foot courtyard that was even now being filled with onlookers, the plants private security force, and EMT's. All of which were cheering as Superman gently lowered the tram to the ground.

The people inside the tram were ushered out quickly; those seeking medical attention were attended too; those with a story to tell were wrangled by security.

Many people thanked Superman, patting his back, shaking his hand, hugging him, showering him with pecks on the cheek.

An older gentleman stepped before him, roughly the same height, wearing a bright, but somewhat faded red cap; a cap that he removed as he spoke.

"Charles Montgomery, the Third." He said with a thick British accent, extending his hand. "Monty to my friends."

Superman took his hand and shook it. "A pleasure to meet you, Monty."

"Dear lad, the pleasure is mine indeed." Monty beamed. "You saved my life today. Saved us all!"

"Well…" Superman replied, his face going serious. "I just hope by doing so I didn't put anyone else in danger…"

Another explosion, ten times the force of the previous ones, shook the entire harbor. Every head turned, every eye searched.

Superman's heart dropped. "No!" he whispered.

The ferry was gone. Were a moment ago a double-decker boat floated across the bay, now was only fiery remains, black smoke climbing into the sky, steam rising from the water as it sank.

A blanket of silence fell over the crowd.

Monty looked back at Superman, and a chill ran over him.

He expected to see horror, pain, sorrow, perhaps even remorse. He was ill prepared for the sight before him.

No tears feel. No quivering lips or downcast eyes. Instead, his crystal blue eyes seemed dull and empty and lost, stating out at the burning wreckage of the ferry as if not really seeing it at all.

Monty looked into Superman's eyes, and saw his heart shatter into a million pieces.


	9. Chapter 9

_Lois was sitting in the backseat of a Humvee, looking out the window. The sky was dark purple; the stars were only now beginning to fade as dawn approached. It was just after five am. Lois was a little surprised to see squad after squad of soldiers already up and about; jogging, marching, exercising; already well into their morning routines. Her father often told her that the base was already buzzing while she and her lazy sister often slept till seven or so; and he was often gone before five a.m. himself._

 _This was the first time she actually saw it for herself._

 _The Humvee made a sharp left and pulled up next to a large rectangular structure with an arched roof. It was dark grey in color and nearly completely featureless, save for the small square sign next to the double doors the read "Gymnasium"._

 _"Let's go." Her father barked as he climbed out of the Humvee. Lois sighed. She watched the driver side door close and her father walk around the front of the vehicle._

 _He stopped abruptly and turned back towards her._

 _"NOW!" he snapped._

 _Lois opened the door and climbed out, slamming the door behind her. She followed her father towards the Gym, having to walk quickly to match her father's steps. They didn't so much as slow down as every soldier they passed stopped and snapped a solute, only moving after he absently returned the gesture._

 _The gym's interior was dark, the only light coming from the skylight above. It was a large expanse of open spaces. The far wall was lined with various sized free weights. In front of them were a row of weight benches. Along the left wall was a group of heavy punching bags, a smaller speed bag hanging in between each set. The wall to the right held a line of shelves, each one lined with stark white towels. On either side of the shelves was a door. The one on the right said "Men's Locker", the left "Women's Locker"._

 _In the gyms center were a series of square mats; all adjoined, covering the floor almost completely. As near as Lois could tell, it was a thirty by thirty foot square in total._

 _Her father was now standing in the middle of the mats, the light from overhead casting his features in dark shadows, and simultaneously making his close cut dark hair and salt and pepper mustache gleam ominously._

 _He was wearing a khaki t-shirt, matching camouflage pants, and his ever present standard military issue combat boots, polished to a smooth black shine. He was also wearing his seemingly ever present scowl. Lois was currently having a hard time remembering the last time she had seen her father smile._

 _She was wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, and a plain white tee. An old pair of tennis shoes covered her feet. Her long hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail._

 _Her eyes were dark bags, slightly red and a little puffy from tears she cried only hours ago…_

 _"Do you know why you're here?" her father asked._

 _"Cause of last night…" she mumbled in response._

 _"No!" he barked. "You here because your too much like me!" She looked at him, a puzzled expression falling over her face._

 _"See…" he continued, beginning to pace. "I know you Lois." He explained. "You're curious, head strong, stubborn as a damn mule, and don't have the good sense God gave a gold fish when it comes to avoiding danger. You see a group if people running towards you screaming bloody murder, you start running the opposite direction to see what all the fuss is about!"_

 _Lois smiled a little at that._

 _"And that is exactly why I'm pissed." He barked again. "I know I can't keep you from sneaking out like you did last night. The more I try to put a leash around you, the harder you're going to try to break free. So you win, Lois. You win! As of this moment, you no longer have a curfew. If you want to stay out until three in the morning, hell, if you want to stay out for three days, I'm not going to try to stop you. I won't even get mad when you waltz your sassy ass through the door!"_

 _It was at that moment that Lois caught movement out the corner of her eye. She looked to her left and saw him._

 _He was around six foot three, maybe two hundred and sixty pounds easy. He was wearing the same outfit as her father; khaki tee and matching camouflage pants. Even his boots were polished to the same gleam. His hair, what little there was of it, was sandy blonde, and his eyes were grey; not that he was looking at her. Sure, he noticed her looking at him, but he kept his eyes firmly affixed on the man in the center of the mats._

 _She went to turn her attention back to her father, and then she saw the other one._

 _This one was shorter, maybe five ten, but just as thick and twice as muscular. Where as the bulk of blonde's size was due to farm grown beef and potatoes, "Shorty's" size seemed to be pure muscle, his khaki tee straining to hold in his chest and arms. His hair was jet black, and his eyes were dark brown. Lois then noticed that his skin was slightly darker than the other man's. Not a tan, but dark nonetheless. His features told her that he was of Hispanic decent._

 _Lois looked around the gym then. There were others. Four others to be exact; men of various size, height, and nationalities. All with the same military buzz-cut, khaki tee, camouflage pants, and polished black boots._

 _And they all seemed to be trying very hard not to look at Lois._

 _"The thing you need to understand is this:" her father continued. "You disobeyed a direct order. I specifically told you that you could not go to Maggie Tomkins party! The reason I told you not to go is because I knew her parents were not going to be home. The reason I knew that is because I am her father's CO and I knew he requested leave a month ago so he and his wife could go to the lake and celebrate their anniversary. I also know that Maggie's boyfriend has been down at the general store with a fake ID, trying to score beer all week."_

 _Lois swallowed hard._

 _"Now lets talk about what you know… or rather… what you think you know…" he stopped pacing and stared hard at her. "You think you know everything! But you don't know squat!" he spat. "But I'm about to change that! I'm about to make sure, that if you don't know anything else in this world, you know how to protect yourself."_

 _Lois tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry._

 _"Center of the mat!" he ordered. Lois hesitated, looking quickly at the six men that surrounded the area. "NOW!" her father barked._

 _Lois stepped onto the mat and slowly joined her father at the center._

 _He stepped in front of her, his dark eyes looking hard at his daughter._

 _"I love you Lois. You, your mother, and your sister are the most important things in my life. I need you to know that. If anything ever happened to any of you, I don't know what I'd do. But damn it! If you're not going to follow orders, the best I can do is make sure you go out in this world prepared."_

 _Lois began to cry. "Daddy… I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I won't do it again. I promise, daddy… please."_

 _General Sam Lane shook his head and took a deep breath. "We both know that isn't true, Lois. As soon as you get your head set on something I'm against, you're gonna disobey me just like you did last night, just like you've done a hundred times before."_

 _"I won't daddy. I promise. I'll listen! I will! Please, daddy... Don't do this!" she pleaded._

 _General Lane cupped his hands around his daughters face, her eyes red and wet with tears, and brought his own face close to hers. "Lois, there are bad men in this world. Bad people! People who won't care that you're a girl, or that you're only fifteen years old. People who won't care that you're a general's daughter. People who won't care anything about you! People who will want to hurt you just cause they can. And the only person that will be able to stop them is you! Do you understand that? Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"_

 _"Yes, daddy!" she cried. "I understand! I'm sorry, daddy. I'm sorry!"_

 _General Lane sighed. He pulled his daughter a little closer, and kissed her forehead._

 _"I'm sorry too, honey." he said softly. He released her face and began walking of the mat._

 _"Private Stinson!" he barked._

 _"Sir, yes, sir!" the large blonde man answered, snapping to attention._

 _"Kindly give Lane here a lesson in self-defense and hand to hand combat."_

 _Stinson hesitated. He looked at the fifteen year old girl in the middle of the mat; the little girl that was crying near hysterically; the little girl that was looking at him and the men around her as if they were the boogie men._

 _"Sir?" he said._

 _General Sam Lane stormed over to him and put his face an inch away from the other mans._

 _"DO YOU HAVE A PROBLEM FOLLOWING ORDERS PRIVATE?!" he yelled._

 _"SIR, NO, SIR!" Stinson answered._

 _"THEN DO AS YOUR COMMANDING OFFICER HAS INSTRUCTED!" he spat._

 _"SIR, YES, SIR!"_

 _General Lane stepped away, and Stinson began walking forward. "You heard the general!" he shouted. The other five men traded nervous glances, and then slowly began to move forward._

 _Tears poured from her eyes; stark, naked fear was etched on her face. She looked from one face to the next. She watched as hesitation slowly melted away, and grim determination took its place. "Daddy!" she cried. "I'm sorry! I won't do it again! I'll do anything! Please! DADDY!"_

 _"Lois, I suggest you defend yourself." General Lane advised._

 _Lois was surrounded now. She tried to run through the circle of men, but was grabbed and thrown back into the center of the mat._

 _She was turning in a frantic circle, each of them coming into view for a second, before looking to the next. "Please…" she whispered. "You don't have to do this…" Her eyes finally landed on the one called Stinson. While the others seemed resigned to what they were about to do, his face was a mixture of sorrow, pity, and remorse. She focused on him. "Please…" she said again. "Please… don't…"_

 _"Sorry, kid…" he whispered. Then he punched her in the jaw._

Lois jumped in her seat, the thunderous sound of the helicopter engines and the howling wind outside the aircraft roared back to her ears. She looked around, momentarily confused and slightly disoriented. She was inside a helicopter. There were rows of seats. She was sitting next to a window. She looked outside: dark skies and pale ice raced past.

She remembered then. She was in the Antarctic, heading towards a remote nuclear research facility. She was covering a story on a new form of nuclear fusion. Not just cold fusion, but something along the lines of sub-zero fusion…

"Bad dream?" a voice said.

She turned and for the first time noticed the man sitting beside her. He was tall; even seated he was almost a foot over her. His face was thin and gaunt, his eyes pale green. He had a thick mustache and beard. He was smiling at her.

"I was just remembering the first fight I got into…" she answered plainly, wiping her eyes.

"Ouch." the man replied. "How'd that work out for you?" he asked.

"Sent two of 'em to the infirmary for a week." she replied with a slight smile.

"Two of them?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Must have been some fight."

"You have no idea!" Lois mused. "How far out are we?" she asked, looking back out the window. "Have we passed the 'PSR' yet?"

PSR stood for "Point of Safe Return". It was the point in a trip where it was safer to continue forward than it would be to turn back. Pilots calculated distance, weather conditions, and fuel usage when determining the PSR.

"About ten minute's ago." the man answered. "We should reach the research facility in another forty minutes or so."

Lois stretched her arms far over her head. "Good." She said. "I think my butts asleep."

The man laughed. "You have quite a sense of humor, for a scientist." he noted. Lois smiled.

"Actually, I'm a reporter." she corrected. "Lois Lane." She offered her hand. "Daily Planet." He took her hand and shook it gently.

"Lois Lane," he repeated. "I'm familiar with your work. You're one hell of a writer. You won the Pulitzer, didn't you?"  
"Twice." Lois corrected with a smile.

"And well deserved." He continued. "I read your piece on the war in The Middle East. Very insightful and profound. Few reporters have the courage to get right in the thick of it. I commend you for that."

Lois actually blushed slightly. "Well, like my editor always tell me:" she began. "The difference between reporters and everyone else is that reporters go out and get the story, everyone else sits on their asses and waits for the story to come to them!"

"Indeed." he replied. "Which I assume is what brings you to Antarctica."

"Yeah." Lois answered, looking out the window again. "Gotta go get the story…" she muttered. She was silent for a long moment.

"Is something wrong?" he asked at last.

"Just wishing I was home in warm bed, next to a warm body."

"Ahh…" he smiled. "I thought I noticed a ring under that glove."

Lois smiled, faced him, removed her glove and held up her hand, showing off her modest wedding ring. The one carat solitaire diamond sparkled in the dim cabin interior. "It's actually Lane-Kent." she admitted.

"And doesn't Mr. Kent worry about his budding bride gallivanting around the globe in search of the next great story?"

Lois laughed. "You have no idea!" she answered. "But he's a reporter also. So he understands… most of the time." She thought for a second. "Honestly, he does a lot more globetrotting than I do!"

"Well," he smiled. "I will say that our Mr. Kent is indeed a very lucky man!"

Lois beamed. "On behalf of my husband, I thank you." she said with a nod. "If you knew my husband, though, you might say I was the lucky one."

The man raised an eyebrow, smiled, but didn't respond.

Lois smiled and found herself lost in thought for a moment. When she looked up the man was smiling at her. She blushed again.

"Where are my manners?" she exclaimed. "You must be one of the scientists."

"I am." The man replied sitting up in his seat. "I'm a nuclear physicist on loan from LexCorp. The boss wants to find out if this new technology is worth his attention." He offered his hand. "My name is Jeremiah. Jeremiah Kuttler."


	10. Chapter 10

The sun was beginning to set just behind the dam.

The bay was full of boats. There were now seven Metropolis Police Department Ships, six fire and rescue boats, and two very large barges, the decks of which were now covered with the remains of the LexCorp ferry.

As far as the plant itself, everyone but a skeleton crew of workers had been sent home. Both the remaining ferries had been taken out of service and were currently being thoroughly inspected. Now, the only way to and from the plant was the surface road. LexCorp had been kind enough to book a fleet of charter buses; each ready to carry its load of passengers to the Ferry dock parking structure. Conversely, the Metropolis Department of Transportation had suspended all tram service until further notice; not satisfied until every tram and every inch of track could be inspected. Every employee had been brought in for questioning and were now undergoing criminal background checks.

The fleet of buses was to remain in place of the ferry's and tram until such time as they both could be deemed safe for travel.

The traffic nightmare had returned.

In the bay, another nightmare altogether was playing out…

Superman was standing on the bow of one of the barges. The deck was a mess. An organized mess, but a mess nonetheless. Superman had personally recovered each and every salvageable piece of the ferry he could find. He would disappear beneath the surface of Metropolis Bay for minutes at a time, reemerging hefting a huge section of the destroyed vessel for deposit on the barge's deck. Some fragments were the size of a large truck or SUV. Others were the size of a baseball. But as far as he could tell, he had gotten every piece that hadn't been destroyed in the explosion.

Then there were the bodies.

Superman saw to them first. He had dove in and emerged over and over again; a lifeless form cradled in his arms each time. Some were horribly burned, some disfigured, some dismembered. And as with the boat, Superman took time and special care to find every piece.

To his dismay… there were a lot of pieces of both.

While the first barge was all but covered in the recovered debris from the ferry, the second barge had a large amount of room left. The space that had been filled, a relatively small section towards the ships bow, was where they had been laid. Forty-three in all. Men and women of various ages, various nationalities, various backgrounds. They only thing they had in common was the fact they all had to be at work at nine am.

All of whom now lay inside black body bags, which had been organized in neat rows; each body about four feet apart; six rows in all.

A large team of medical examiners, fire investigators, police detectives, and even federal agents were now crawling over the remains, looking for clues, trying to identify the victims, searching for answers.

For the most part, none of them were talking to Superman. Many of them tried their best to avoid looking at him.

One man, however, walked up and stood beside him; both looking out over the deck and its activity.

He was about six feet in height, a lean two hundred and twenty pounds. His well tailored suit showed that he was muscularly built, with broad shoulders and a wide chest. He skin was dark and smooth; his head was shaven bald, a thin, well groomed mustache and goatee encircling his full lips. His intense dark brown eyes struggled to take in every thing he was seeing.

"You know…" he began, his voice low and smooth. "In the bureau, we call this a bad day."

Superman didn't respond.

"What do you guys in the 'League' call days like this?" he asked.

"We try not to have days like this often enough to name them." Superman answered dryly. "Is there something I can help you with, Mr.?"

"Davison. Special Agent Davison. FBI. Meta-humans Division. Recent transfer to the Metropolis branch."

"Well, Agent Davison…" Superman said, turning to look at the shorter man for the first time. "I'm a little busy at the moment, so unless you need me for something…"

"I'd say you've done enough already." Agent Davison responded still not looking at him.

Superman turned very slowly to face him. "Excuse me?"

"Did you really recover every piece of that ferry?" he asked, his eyes still scanning the decks of both barges.

"Every piece I could find." Superman answered defensively.

"Probably would have taken a dive team a month and a half to find every piece…" Davison said absentmindedly. "And the bodies…" he continued. "That couldn't have been a picnic…"

"Agent Davison," Superman said, anger creeping into his voice.

"Who could do such a thing?" Agent Davison interrupted him.

Superman blinked. "What was I supposed to do?" he fumed. "Leave them at the bottom of the bay?"

"No." Davison answered, shaking his head slowly. "No… not that. The ferry. Who could blow up a ferry full of innocent people?"

Superman blinked again, some of the anger fading from him. He turned back towards the deck of the barges. "I wish I knew!" he whispered, his hand balling into a fist.

"Any ideas?" Davison asked, turning towards him for the first time.

Superman was silent for a moment. "None of the criminals I've faced fit the M.O." he answered finally.

"You sure?" Davison pressed.

Superman looked at him. "No one I can think of." He answered. "Believe me, if I had any idea who was responsible, I'd be talking to them right now, instead of you."

Davison didn't answer. He turned back towards the barges deck as well.

The stood there in silence for a long moment.

"We ran the recording from the radio station. CD; delivered standard mail to the station this morning; addressed to the station manager. No other markings or labels. In fact, the CD was clean as a whistle. No fingerprints, DNA, distinguishing marks or logos. Not so much as a scratch. It's was your garden verity recordable CD, available at every ninety-nine cent store and Wal-mart between here and Timbuktu. "

"I'd like to listen to it." Superman said in a tone that said plainly it wasn't a request. "Maybe I can pick up something you missed."

Agent Davison glanced at him with a half grin. "Of course." he replied.

Silence again.

"Heartless bastard." Davison whispered.

Superman turned towards him so fast, the gust of wind he created nearly knocked Davison over. "WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?!" he fumed.

"Not you! Whoever did this!" Davison answered, raising his arm to protect his face.

Superman quickly regained his composer and took a step back. "'I'm… I'm sorry." he breathed.

"You always this touchy?" Davison asked, taking a step back as well.

"I'm sorry." Superman repeated. "I just… I…" he looked out at the barge. He looked at the bodies laying there. "There's just so many of them…" he sighed. "I was so close to them… but I still didn't… couldn't save them…"

Davison retook his position on the barge and scanned it as well.

"Yeah," Davison sighed as well. "I supposed that'd put anybody on edge, even you." He glanced at the taller man. "He had to know the schedules;" he began. "The tram. The ferries. And if he knew that, he had to know how many people would be on board. It takes a heartless bastard to kill this many people, and for what? Just to get your attention?"

Superman looked at him, then cast a downward glance.

Davison took a deep breath. "In any event, it's a shame you didn't recover the device. It might have helped."

"Actually," Superman said, regaining his height? "Anything?" he said, seemingly to no one.

"I haven't seen anything like it before?" a deep, gravely voice answered.

Davison nearly jumped out of his skin.

He turned and saw Batman standing right beside him, a small piece of twisted plastic and metal in his gloved hands.

"Very sophisticated." he continued, eyeing the piece. "It must have been planted in the ships engine. Remote trigger. I checked the tram. There was a transmitter built into the intercom system. It had a timer attached. Presumably, when the tram fell into the bay, the entire electrical system would have been shorted, including the device. When it wasn't…"

"It sent a signal, detonating the bomb." Superman continued.

Special Agent Davison was staring; mouth wide, at the Dark Knight as if he just appeared out of thin air.

 _"…if Superman saves the tram, if he saves the passengers onboard, a number equal to that of the passengers on the tram will be killed in their place…"_ the words echoed in Superman's ears.

"There's no incendiary residue." Batman continued.

"It was underwater. Should there be?" Superman asked.

"Dynamite. C-4. TNT. Nitroglycerin. Gasoline. Nearly every form of flammable or combustible substance leaves behind a residue; a chemical burn-off. Even with the ferry being submerged, there should be some trace of chemical residue. But every piece I examined was clean. There was nothing at all. Whatever made the explosion, it was something we haven't seen yet."

"I went over every inch of the ship, down to the molecular level." Superman added. "I didn't see anything that pointed in any one direction."

Agent Davison blinked. He cleared his throat as if relearning how to speak. "That's evidence." he said at last, pointing at the small fragment on Batman's hands.

Batman looked at him for a moment that seemed, to Agent Davison, to last for a very long time.

"Here." He said finally, handing it to him.

Davidson took it, and held it as if he expected it to bite him.

"You really have no idea who's behind this?" Batman asked Superman.

"None." He answered. "ToyMan, LiveWire, Metallo; it just doesn't fit any of them. It's not there style. They're flashier than this. They like the spotlight more. They would have reviled themselves by now." His brow creased with concentration. "Wait a second… You said that almost every form of explosion leaves behind some type of residue. What doesn't?"

"Well," Batman began. "There's magic, if you believe in it," He said it as if just saying the word left a bad taste in his mouth. Superman frowned as well. He was nearly invulnerable to every weapon made by the hands of man. Magic, on the other hand, was a completely different story. "There's also a few other forms of weaponry I've seen; mainly Thanagarian and Martian in nature. The only other thing I can think of that's man made is a nuclear explosion."

"A nuke?" Superman questioned.

"A nuclear blast," Batman explained. "Wouldn't leave behind any residue, per say, but it does leave radiation. I did pick up traces, mid-level rads, but then again, this is a nuclear power plant."

Superman ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

"You're thinking to big." Batman said flatly.

"What do you mean?" Superman asked.

"Whoever's behind this," Batman continued. "There not some new super-powered thug trying to prove how big and tough they are. There not after money. There not seeking fame or notoriety, or else they would have taken credit for this by now. The device is new; sophisticated. This indicates they're smart. The targets indicate planning and precision. They wanted something public, but they choose something remote, something hard to reach by the authorities, in the off chance they're message was received early. That shows careful planning and patience. Baring magic, I'd guess this is the work of your average human; someone who feels you have wronged them in some way or form. Whoever this is; what ever their motivation for all this; it's personal. They hate you more than anything else. And they don't care who they have to hurt just to show you how much they hate you. But they don't want to be alone in all this. What they want… is to turn the whole city against you."

Superman's eyes narrowed as he looked at the dark clad man across from him. They seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"But even he wouldn't go this far." Superman said finally. "Plus, it was his ferry. His tram! His employees!"

"Exactly." Batman said plainly. "Who has better access? Who else could order certain… changes to the trams electrical system; additions to the ferries engine system?"

Superman thought long and hard about it.

"But what does he get out of it? What's the benefit?" he puzzled.

"Same thing he always wants, I suppose. A city that hates you as much as he does."

Superman frowned.

"Wait a minute." Agent Davison chimed in finally. "You're not talking about who I think your talking about?" he asked, looking at Superman. "Not Lex Luthor?!"

Superman didn't respond.

"Why would Lex Luthor destroy his own tram line and blow up a ferry full of his own personnel?" he asked. He turned towards Batman, but found that he was now speaking to nothing but air.

Agent Davison looked around frantically, but for all intents and purposes, Batman had vanished.

"He does that." Superman breathed.

Davison blinked his eyes, and shook his head frantically. "Okay…" he began. "I've read all about the dozens of run-ins you've had with the guy; indictments, criminal investigations, lawsuits… and guilty or not, the guy always seems to come away scot-free and smelling of roses! But it just doesn't make any since! Why would he do this to his own company; his own plant; his own people?" Davison asked, his voice still smooth and low, but slightly more excited than before.

Superman took a deep breath, and slowly began to rise into the sky. "Can't hurt to ask." he said as he flew away.

Special Agent Davison watched him disappear into the darkening sky, his head now filled with more questions than answers.


	11. Chapter 11

At roughly three hundred and sixty miles northeast of the Ronne Ice Shelf, Stangin Research Facility was the closest to the South Pole Lois ever wanted to get. The last ten minutes of the helicopter ride had been a nightmare. The storm they were tracking was well on its way into the area, and as far as Lois could tell, based on the dips, dives and otherwise bumpy ride; they were flying right into the heart of it. As it turned out; as Jeremiah had been kind enough to explain to her, the storm was still a good way out. What they were experiencing were just gusts and side winds. "Great" Lois responded, her head firmly between her legs.

Now on the ground, she had a better understanding of what he meant.

The wind assaulted her relentlessly. The only the thing worse than the forty mile an hour gust that tried repeatedly to knock her off her feet, was the cold; the bone-chilling, lip chapping, skin biting cold.

She was wearing four layers of clothing; from under-alls to a heavy down parka with a fur trimmed hood. She was carrying two small pieces of luggage, one filled with more layers of clothing, the other filled with her unmentionables, make-up, and shoes. She also lugged her laptop case over her shoulder.

The combination of the weight of her bags, the ice and snow up to her shins, the wind in her face, and the tether line she was attached too, made her forward progress difficult to say the least.

Jeremiah had climbed out of the helicopter behind her, and now, noticing how difficult a time she was having, grabbed her under her arm and led her forward slowly. Lois was grateful for the assistance.

The helipad was roughly fifty yards from the facilities main entrance. Lois and Jeremiah, and the large throng of the scientific elite, approached a large pair of reinforced steel doors that were set into a structure that resembled more a small warehouse than a research facility.

They stepped inside and stopped.

Warehouse was wrong, as Lois now realized looking around. It was a garage; a motor pool to be exact. Lined along the walls to the left and the right were a collection of snowmobiles, six on each side, each row bisected by a large snow cat; a massive truck-like vehicle designed specifically for traversing snow covered landscapes. Instead of tires it had two large tracks of tank treads. The cabin sat a good eight feet up, and the front and roof of the vehicle were lined with high-powered lights.

Along the far wall, opposite the main entrance, was another pair of steel doors. They were now firmly shut.

The motor pool was filled with all the passengers' from the helicopter; all the scientist, journalist, pilots and crew. Twenty eight people in all, Lois noted, including her. They all seemed to be looking around to one another for direction, or a general idea of what was going to happen next.

As if to answer everyone's silent question, the pair of doors they had just passed began to slide closed, load motors and grinding gears booming to life and forcing the large metal slabs together. They closed with a thunderous sound of metal meeting metal; then the motors and gears stopped working, and only deafening silence followed. The sound of the roaring wind and snow was completely inaudible.

"Well that seemed ominous…" Lois remarked, her voice echoing throughout the vast space. Jeremiah looked at her then. He smiled.

Before anyone else could speak, the sound of motors and gears flared to life once again, this time from the opposite end of the structure. The two large double doors at the far end of the motor pool began to slide open. Before they were completely apart, a group of men in jeans and polo shirts stepped into the motor pool and began walking towards them.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" a man began, smiling brightly, his warms spread wide. "Welcome to the Stangin Research Facility. I am Peter Stangin. I hope you are all ready for a glimpse at the future of nuclear energy. I'm sure you all have many questions, which I am looking forward to answering; but in the meantime, let's get you all out of those heavy clothes and into something a little more comfortable."

The rest of the facility was subterranean; one hundred and thirteen yards underground to be exact. Behind the large steel doors Dr. Peter Stangin and his team of Nuclear scientist had emerged was a large cargo elevator, roughly half the size of the motor pool itself; it was easily big enough to accommodate all the new arrivals, their luggage and equipment.

Lois was standing near one of the walls, her new friend Jeremiah slightly behind her. The elevator was slowly descending now, the large motor working loudly above. Louder still was the chatter that was buzzing throughout the lift; Dr. Stangin was at the center of a preverbal storm of questions and greetings. He was trying to shake as many hands as he could reach, thanking people for coming, asking them about the trip, all the while attempting to side step any and all questions about his research, the facility, and the impending demonstration of his new technology. "All in due time!" he repeated politely whenever a question arose he didn't want to answer yet.

Lois regarded the man as he spoke. He was tall and rail thin, maybe six-three or better, but easily less than two-hundred pounds. His hair was bright blonde, with a great matching beard and mustache. His eyes were bright blue, small round glasses covering them. His skin was pale from lack of sun, but that didn't seem to affect his demeanor; he was all smiles and giggles.

"You'd never guess he is one of the ten smartest people in the world." she heard Jeremiah say softly behind her.

She glanced back at him. "Is that a note of jealousy I detect in your voice?" she probed.

Jeremiah laughed. "Not in the least!" he said shaking, his head. "After all, I got a ninety-eight on our physics final. He only scored a ninety-two!"

"You went to school with him?" she asked, a little impressed.

"MIT." Jeremiah answered, indicating the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. "We were lab partners, for awhile…" he added.

Lois's eyes narrowed. "You don't seem eager to reminisce over old times with him." She probed.

Jeremiah took in a deep breath. "Let's just say he and I didn't part on good terms." he sighed. "He stole something from me that was very dear."

Lois turned back towards the tall man with bright blonde hair and brighter blue eyes. "He doesn't look like much of a thief." Lois noted.

"Appearances can often be misleading, Mrs. Kent."

"Lois." she corrected, turning to him once again. "Please."

Jeremiah nodded towards her and smiled. "As I was saying, Lois," he continued. "People are not always what they seem. I'm sure in your many years of journalism you've come across more than a few people who hide behind… masks…"

Lois smiled sheepishly. "You have no idea." she whispered.

Jeremiah smiled widely at her. "We all have our skeletons; things we try to hide from the rest of the world. Some more than others, I'm sure, but we all have are secrets." His eyes turned back to Dr. Stangin. "He did steal something from me once." a dark smile crossed his lips for a moment. "Than again," he continued. "If you ask him, he may just say the same of me."

"A little 'tit' for 'tat'?" Lois mused.

Jeremiah looked at her, his light green eyes studying her carefully. "You could say that" he answered.

The lift slowed to a stop and the throng filed out.

Lois couldn't believe her eyes.

Her mind told her that she was in the middle of the Antarctic, over three hundred feet underground, a blizzard heading towards them at the same moment; but her eyes told her a completely different story.

The lift let out into what looked more like a lavish hotel lobby than a research facility. Marble floors spread out before them in cream and black. The walls were adorned with large works of art, depicting various landscapes and settings. The overhead lights were recessed into a high arching ceiling that was painted to resemble a blue summer sky with scattered clouds. Intricate crown moldings ran along the walls, florescent lights recessed into them to help illuminate the ceiling and maintain the illusion.

There were four large ivory pillars spaced equal distance apart from one another, making a perfect square, at the center of which was three steps leading up to a raised landing, a sitting area featuring two leather sectionals, two chase lounges, four sitting chairs, and five small tables.

Behind the landing was a large archway, a branching corridor heading to the left and right beyond it. A map of the facility was on the far wall, the words "Common room, Cafeteria, Dorms, Gym" with an arrow pointing right at the top, and "Labs, Storage, Maintenance" with and arrow pointing left below it.

Dr. Stangin was standing atop the landing now, the members of his staff flanking him. He was facing the group, all of which were waiting intently for him to speak.

"Again," he began. "Welcome to what has been my home for the last fourteen months. I thank you all so much for coming. Many of you are the best and brightest minds in the field of nuclear science. Others are the foremost journalistic professionals from around the world. You are all here for the same reason; to bare witness to what I believe is the single greatest advancement in nuclear science since the splitting of the first atom! Today, we stand on the edge of a glorious new frontier, and I am proud and honored to have you all here with me to take the first bold steps!"

Applause then.

Lois wasn't sure what to do, as she wasn't sure what they were applauding, so she kept her hands at her sides.

"I know you all have questions," he continued. "And I promise to address each of them, but by know I'm sure you are all beginning to notice the difference in climate…"

It wasn't until he said something that Lois did notice it. It was warm. There, buried three hundred feet deep in a block of solid ice, Lois noticed the beads of sweat that had formed on her forehead. In fact, in the four layers of clothing and down parka coat, she was beginning to burn up.

"This facility is state of the art and has all the connivances of home, including AC." Stangin mused. "Down the hall to my left, your right, are the dormitories. You will all have a warm bed to sleep in and a hot shower for those who require, as I'm sure your journey has been a long and exhausting one. In as much, my staff and I have prepared a feast for you, our honored guests; so please, take a moment to change and unwind. Feel free to tour the facility; all but the labs are open to you. And please meet for dinner in the cafeteria in an hour. Tonight we will eat, drink, and be merry… we will rest well and warm, and tomorrow… tomorrow will be a bright new day for not only for us… but for all of humanity!"

Applause again.

And again, Lois's hands remained at her side. After hearing some of the speeches her husband had given, she was admittedly a little hard to impress.

Dr. Stangin waved to his guest and disappeared down the corridor and to the right, towards the labs and such. His staff remained, broke his guest up into smaller groups, and escorted them towards the dorms.

The Common Room was first on the tour. "Lavish" was too weak a word to describe it.

There was a pool table, an air hockey table, and a ping pong table. On the wall to the left hung a seventy inch flat-screen television, surrounded by shelves; the top a collection of video game systems, the left holding the largest DVD and Blue-Ray disc collection Lois had ever seen outside a video store. On the right was the largest video game collection she had ever seen. Directly opposite the television was a collection on love seats and lounge chairs.

Large landscape art hung here and there. A few scenic photos were also scattered about. There was even a large fish-tank along the far wall, a dozen exotic looking fish swimming back and forth through it.

The path branched again, all the women heading off to the left, all the men to the right.

There were not enough rooms for everyone to have there own, so Lois found herself bunking with a woman she recognized as a reporter from Gotham. Her name was Tanya Marshal. She was in her late forties, her hair and eyes showing more of her age than she would have liked, Lois was sure.

Lois smiled at her.

She smiled in return, but it didn't reach her eyes.

The room they were sharing was made up like an average college dorm; two twin size beds, two small desks, two lamps, and two closets; all placed on opposite sides on the room, mirroring each other. The bedding on both beds was composed of a sheet, pillow, blanket, and bedspread, all of which looked expensive and out of place in the room.

Lois looked at the older woman. "Any preference?" she asked.

The older woman didn't respond, but tossed her belongings on the bed to the right and began unpacking.

Lois shrugged and did the same on the bed to the left, removing her heavy parka and the sweater underneath. A thick flannel button up remained.

The silence was deafening and there was the undeniable sensation of mounting tension.

"So…" Lois began, never one for uncomfortable silences. "You think we'll get a decent story out of all this hoopla, or do you think this'll be another one that'll just take up space on our hard drives?"

"I delete all my old stories." Tanya replied dryly.

Lois sighed.

"To be honest," Lois continued undaunted. "I'm just glad the heater works down here. I think I came this close to getting frost bite on my big toe! I tell you a hot shower and some food and I'm going to sleep like a baby!"

Tanya didn't respond.

Lois sat quietly for a moment, the silence pressing against her like a solid thing.

"I'm sorry," Lois said finally, intent on making to other woman converse with her. If she could get the leader of one of the worlds largest terrorist organizations to invite her in for tea and tell her his life story, she could certainly get this woman to acknowledge the fact that she was in the same room with her. "Did I do or say something that offended you in some way?" Lois asked.

Tanya stopped unpacking then and took a slow deep breath. She drew herself to her full height, which Lois just then noticed was considerable, and slowly turned to face her.

The two women locked eyes for a moment; Lois' full of curiosity and a little confusion; Tonya's full of annoyance and a subtle fury.

"You really don't remember, do you?" Tanya asked after a long moment.

"Remember what?"

Tanya smiled then. Not a happy smile, but the kind of smile you get when you're about go off on someone, but you're going to choose your words very carefully. "New York. Summer of '06. World Peace Conference."

Lois blinked at her. She looked at the older woman for a long moment, studying her face intently. The peace conference she did remember, a five day affair that was attended by everyone from the President of the United States, to the rulers and Leaders of nearly every nation on the planet. She ran through nearly every event, every party, and every press conference she could recall. Tanya was no where to be found in her memory.

"I got nothing." she replied finally.

Tanya laughed; a dry, harsh sound.

"Five days!" Tanya began, swaying slightly as she spoke. "Five days of pushing, shoving, and clawing for position, pen poised, audio recorder at the ready! Five days in the proverbial trenches. I spoke to nearly every dignitary, spokes person, liaison; hell, I even tried to get the scoop from a few limo drivers! And just when I think I've talked to everyone there was to talk to, just when I think I've pressed stop on my recorder for the last time, guess who flies into the conference center!"

"Superman." Lois breathed, her voice a whisper, the events of the last day of the conference coming back to her.

"Superman!" Tanya repeated. "Bright as day and larger than life! And he strolls right up to the center stage, right up to the podium, and say his little speech about the importance of global peace and unity… blah, blah, blah! But that wasn't the most shocking thing to happen!" Tanya stated, shaking her head.

"It wasn't?" Lois asked, her forehead creased with confusion.

"No, no, no…" Tanya replied, her voice that of one you would use when speaking to a small child. "No, the most shocking thing wasn't until the next day; when the Daily Planet published it's report on the World Peace Conference, with an exclusive interview with the unexpected attendee, Superman!; written by none other than Lois Lane!"

Lois blinked again. "What a minute." she said, the shock and surprise evident in her voice. "You're mad because I got an exclusive with Superman?"

"I searched the entire convention center after he left the auditorium." Tanya continued. "I ran right up to the roof first! I checked every floor and every room. I even checked the men's room… all of them. But to be honest, there are just some things that even I'm not willing to do to get a story."

Lois felt like she had just been slapped in the face. She was on her feet and didn't remember standing.

"Are you implying what I think you're implying?!" she fumed, glaring at the taller woman.

Tanya raised her hands defensively and took a step back, a coy smile spreading across her lips. "Look," she said, turning back to her belongings. "A reporter's gotta do what a reporter's gotta do. And I'm sure there are more reasons he's called 'Superman' than just the fact he can fly. Personally, I have boundaries…"

Lois was stunned. She couldn't believe that this woman had the audacity to make such an allegation; but simultaneously, she knew she couldn't get that upset over it because it was true, partially anyway. She and Superman had just begun their love affair and had spent the night together. And he did talk to her about the conference and what it meant to him; and subsequently, he had given her permission to report it as an interview.

Lois found herself without a leg to stand on; her moral high ground now non-existent. Rather than say something that would have been an outright lie, or worse still, something that might lead to more questions, she remained silent.

Tanya turned back to her, her face a mixture of sadistic pleasure and satisfaction. She was holding a large rolled towel in one hand and an overnight bag in the other.

"I'm going to freshen up before dinner…" she said her voice dripping with venom. "I suddenly feel… soiled." And with that, she left the room.

Lois gave herself a lot of credit for watching her leave, as apposed to pulling her hair out as she walked away. As it was, as soon as her footfalls fell silent in the distance, Lois flopped onto the bed, pulled the pillow over her face and screamed into it; a string of curses muffled by the soft down pillow wrapped in a warm flannel sleeve.

There was a knock.

Lois pulled the pillow from her face and sat up quickly.

Jeremiah was standing in the doorway, a puzzled look on his face.

"I could come back..." he said.

"No, no…" Lois coughed, tossing the pillow back to the head of the bed. "I was just… venting…" she admitted. She stood and went back to unpacking her bags once again.

"Is something wrong?" Jeremiah asked.

"No." she lied. "Just let me know if you find out who's responsible for the room arrangements, so I can punch him in the face!"

Jeremiah blinked, and then smiled. "Roommate trouble?" he asked.

"You could say that. What's up?" she asked.

"I just wanted to make sure you were getting along alright. You seemed a little out of your element before."

"If by 'out of my element' you mean I feel like the kid that ate paste in kindergarten around all these big brains, then you're right!"

Jeremiah laughed. "Don't worry. Most of those big brains you're talking about are pretty harmless. A few drinks, and they'll be on top of the tables with lampshades on their heads."

"So say's the man that scored a ninety-eight on his Physics final." Lois mused.

"Touché." Jeremiah nodded.

"I just don't want to be sitting there with a blank expression when all the science hits the fan." Lois admitted.

"Tell you what," Jeremiah began, taking a step into the room. "I'll sit next to you at dinner, stay by your side throughout this whole ordeal, and anytime you feel like the conversations getting above your IQ range, you just tug on my sleeve and I'll explain it all to you."

"My own personal science translator." Lois joked.

"Exactly." Jeremiah beamed.

"Man, I sure could have used you high school!" Lois replied.

"And maybe you could have helped me get more dates." Jeremiah joked.

"I'm sure you did alright for yourself. I'm willing to bet there's someone back in the states just waiting for you to come back into their loving arms!"

A shadow passed over Jeremiahs face then; the quickest, briefest change in expression. Ever so slight, ever so subtle. If Lois hadn't have been looking directly at him, she would have missed it.

He smiled.

"I'll save you a seat next to me in the dining hall then." He said.

Lois smiled back weakly, her mind still puzzled about the almost non-existent change in emotion she just witnessed. She had been a reporter long enough, her instincts sharp enough, to know when she had touched a nerve. She had also learned, through years of experience dealing with people who had stories they were not quite ready to tell, when to press the issue and when to let sleeping dogs lie.

"It's a date." was her response.

Jeremiah nodded, turned, and left.

Lois stood there for a moment, her mind racing. Between the roommate from hell and trying to decipher Jeremiahs momentary lapse in facial control, her brain was working overtime.

A rumble came from her stomach then, snapping her back to the here and now. The questions could wait until later, she decided, turning back to her suitcase, searching for something that better fit the warm new climate. It had been hours since she last ate, and as her stomach growled up at her again, Lois resigned herself to a single state of mind: no more questions until after dinner!

The dining hall, like the rest of the research facility Lois had seen so far; it looked completely out of place a hundred yards deep in frozen rock.

Twin oak doors opened into a large oval room. Along the left curved wall was a line of tables, all covered with food; everything from rack of lamb and lobster tales, to shrimp cocktail and inch and a half thick cuts of Filet Mignon. Bowls of salad overflowed, towers of rolls sat a foot high on large platters. Fruits and fresh steamed vegetables accented the tables with color.

And for all intents and purposes, the massive spread was almost completely ignored; all most everyone in the room had collected at the far end, all talking and drinking from champagne flutes. Lois headed that direction, her curiosity leading her.

As she approached, she saw what all the fuss was about…

The far wall was a large arch, nearly a perfect half circle; and forty feet across and ten feet from floor to ceiling, and wasn't really a wall at all. It was a window. And it looked out at the bluest, clearest water Lois had ever seen, a large group of sea lions swimming curiously back and forth before it.

Dr. Stangin was standing at the center of the group, apparently talking about the beautiful scenery: "… by complete accident, if you'll believe it. Initially surveys indicated that this entire area was solid ice and rock. But low and behold, when we began construction of the cafeteria, we nearly flooded the entire facility." Polite laughter followed. "When we realized we had tapped into the side of a subterranean lake, I decided that this…" he gestured to the transparent wall. "Was the best way to preserve the lakes integrity, but allow us a rare glimpse at one of nature's most fascinating wonders."

"Remarkable!" a woman said. Lois noticed Tanya then, practically ready to drape herself over Dr. Stangin. More than half the contents of her champagne flute had disappeared.

"Is that safe?" someone asked.

"Completely." Dr. Stangin answered. "It's six inches of a polycarbonate-glass composite. Temperature resistant up to plus or minus five hundred degrees, bullet proof, shatter proof, explosion proof… a tank shell couldn't get through here."

"What about an explosion from, say, a nuclear reactor?" a voice called out.

Every head turned, and standing at the back of the group, was Jeremiah.

He was wearing a black blazer with a white polo underneath, fitted blue jeans over dark brown boots. His hair was slicked back, his pale skin a contrast to his dark eyes. He was smiling weakly.

Dr. Stangin absentmindedly handed his champagne flute to Tanya and walked forward. The throng of scientist and journalist parted like a sea as the two men approached one another. Dr. Stangin face was a mask of uncertainty, looking almost as if he was seeing a ghost.

"Jeremiah…" he said softly. "It's been too long…" He wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into a tight embrace. Jeremiah returned the gesture, patting Dr. Stangin softly on his back.

"Eleven years." Jeremiah confirmed.

Dr. Stangin pulled away, his hands grabbing Jeremiah at the shoulders and holding him at arms length. "I am sorry." he whispered. "So sorry…" he paused, his voice failing him for a moment, his eyes becoming noticeably teary. "She was," he continued softly. "She was an amazing woman."

Jeremiah nodded, but didn't speak.

Dr. Stangin wiped his eyes. "I was unsure whether you would have accepted my invitation in light of our history. I was sure Mr. Luthor would have sent someone… I'd hoped it was you… but to be honest, after the last time we spoke…"

"All water under the bridge, old friend." Jeremiah said, patting his shoulder.

"Indeed." Dr. Stangin smiled. "Ladies and gentlemen!" he shouted, turning back towards his guest. "May I present to you and old friend and colleague: Jeremiah Kuttler; one of the finest minds in Nuclear Science!"

People applauded. Even Lois.

"I owe much of what I have accomplished her to this man. Without his influence and direction in college, not to mention a great deal of his physics notes, I dare say I would not be the man I am today, nor would we be in the great position we find ourselves!"

Jeremiah waved a dismissive hand. "The only truth is that Peter did barrow many pages of lab notes, most he failed to return…" Jeremiah gave him a sideward glance. "But that was a long time ago. A lifetime ago…" he paused. A staff member walked by, holding a tray of full champagne flutes. He grabbed two, handing one to Dr. Stangin.

"I have no intention on tarnishing the shine on this mans great achievements; the day is his, and if the things he's promised out of his new fusion technology are even half true, then the future belongs to all mankind. So if you would, join me in a toast…"

Everyone without a glass reached for one. Everyone with a glass raised theirs along with Jeremiah and Dr. Stangin. Lois was handed a flute and raised hers as well.

"To Dr. Peter Stangin!" He announced, raising his flute a little higher. "And to the future of mankind!"

Everyone ceremoniously raised their glass and took a sip of champagne. Lois was by no means a wine or champagne expert, but she new the good stuff when she tasted it.

"Well, then…" Dr. Stangin said, lowering his flute from his lips. "The food is hot, the night is young and the bar is open. Let us enjoy tonight, for tomorrow is a new day indeed."

The guest slowly but surely made their way towards the tables of food and drinks. Lois made her way over to Jeremiah and Dr. Stangin.

"Very nice…" she said offering her hand to Stangin. "Lois-"

"Lane. Of course!" Dr. Stangin said, taking her hand, raising it to his lips and kissing it gently. "The Daily Planets top reporter. Winner of the Pulitzer Prize; not once, but twice." He noted. "The pleasure is mine."

"Ever the smooth talker." Jeremiah sighed.

"I learned from the best." Dr. Stangin smiled at him. "Mrs. Lane." he continued. "I'd be honored if you would join me and my old friend, Mr. Kuttler here, at our table. I insist."

"As long as you promise to use small words;" Lois replied. "I'd be honored."

"Splendid." Dr. Stangin smiled.

The table was large and round. Lois was seated next to Jeremiah, Dr. Stangin on the other side of him. Next to Stangin was a tall woman with short blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Dr. Stangin had introduced her as his fiancée, Natasha. She was a physicist from the Ukraine. Her knowledge on all things nuclear was as thick as her accent. Next to her was a short round man, American by birth, but with an Australian accent. He had introduced himself as Leland Strum, and was another scientist. In fact, of the ten people seated at the table, Lois was the only one not a member if the scientific community.

She looked up for a second and noticed Tanya glaring at her heatedly. Lois smiled and raised her glass of champagne to the older woman. The gesture was not returned.

The conversation was all science, equations, and numbers as far as Lois could tell. As for his part, Jeremiah had done his best to keep her included, by "dumbing down" the concepts and hypostases', explaining certain expressions, or outright ignoring the ones he didn't agree with. Dr. Stangin, however, was somewhat reserved. He deflected any direct questions from anyone, including Lois, about the exact nature of his research, or what the demonstration tomorrow had in store.

"All in due time." was his only response.

To Lois's dismay, the conversation did turn, when Natasha asked her about a recent story she had written involving Superman.

"Iz it true he can project heat from his eyes?" she asked.

"Yes." Lois replied dryly.

"Amazing!" Natasha exclaimed. "It must be zome type of zub-atomic fusion generated by his ocular zockets when held at a specific position, otherwise he would zat things on fire all ze time…"

Lois burst into laughter.

Everyone looked at her as if she had just gone mad.

"That is the first time I've ever heard a nuclear physicist try to explain his heat vision." and continued to laugh. After a moment Jeremiah joined her. Dr. Stangin followed, then the rest of the table seemed to join, either truly understanding how ridiculous it was to try and offer any type of scientific explanation for the super-powers of an alien being, or because they had all had too much champagne.

The rest of the evening went by rather smoothly and quickly after that. Lois ate too much and drank much more than that.

She was now leaning against Jeremiah, his arm cradling her back, and taking unsteady steps through the common room towards her bunk.

"…and then he says to me:" Lois said, her voice slightly slurred. "For the last time 'No Comment!'. And I tell him; 'Fine! But just let me shove this recorder up your butt, so when your pull your head out of it, maybe I'll get an exclusive!'"

They both laughed.

"Lois… I do believe you're drunk." Jeremiah noted.

"No way, Jose!" She pushed away from him and collected herself, drawing to her full height. She took two steps forward and almost fell into the wall.

Jeremiah caught her in time to save her from a nasty bump on the head.

"Damn heels…" she cursed under her breath. Jeremiah didn't reply,

They continued to Lois's room, where Tanya was already fast asleep.

Lois raised her finger to her lips. "Shuuuuuuush…" she said with more breath than she intended. "We don't want to wake up the wicked bitch of the west." she laughed.

Jeremiah smiled and helped her to her bed. He laid her on her back, pulled the shoes from her feet, and pulled a heavy blanket over her.

She looked at him and smiled. "You're a good man, Jeremiah."

The shadow fell across his face once more, than disappeared a split second later.

"Only time will tell." he said softly. "Good night Lois."

"Good night… Clark." was the last thing she said before she passed out.


	12. Chapter 12

_"I don't get it." Lois admitted._

 _"I believe the idea is to lay here in the sun and allow the radiation to slightly 'cook' us, until our skin pigment becomes a shade or two darker…"_

 _Lois was lying on a beach atop the whitest sand she could have ever imagined. Her hair was long and pulled back into a lose ponytail. The water flowing up and down the beach was blue and crystal clear. The sun was high and bright in a cloudless sky. The breeze was gentle and cool, and seemed to complement the nearly perfect temperature. The only sound was the ocean before her, the birds singing in the thick jungle behind her and the hint of someone strumming a harp in the distance._

 _It was a perfect day. Just as it had been yesterday; and the day before that, and the day before that. Just as it always was in Paradise Island; in Themyscara._

 _Beside Lois lay Diana, Princess of the Amazons, Champion of Themyscara, Ambassador of Peace and Wisdom, and more commonly known to the rest of the world as Wonder Woman._

 _She was lying with her eyes closed, her body parallel to Lois, but easily a foot and a half longer in the white sand. Her jet black hair spread out from her head like a wave, naturally resting in the perfect position hairstylist spend hours trying to obtain for photo shoots and shampoo ads._

 _And, with the exception of her ever present bracelets; all she wore was a two piece bikini that could best be described as "string"._

 _Lois, no stranger to gyms and women's locker rooms, was never bothered by female nudity, or near nudity. In fact, she worked hard keeping herself in shape and rarely felt uncomfortable being naked around any other woman, but at the moment, the desire to cover her own bikini clad body with as much of the perfect white sand as she could was almost overwhelming. It was Wonder Woman she was laying next to, after all. She couldn't imagine any woman in the world not feeling insecure around a woman that was six feet of sculpted beauty; raven black hair, flawless cream skin, crystal blue eyes, and a body that many women paid tens of thousand of dollars to achieve._

 _Lois frowned and tried very hard to focus on something else._

 _"No…" she said, sitting up. "I got the concept of tanning-"_

 _"I'm not sure I'm doing it right," Diana admitted. "We've been doing this for three days, and while I can see a noticeable change in your skin pigment, or tan as you call it, my skin remains unaffected. Maybe if I try some more of that 'tanning lotion'…"_

 _"You invulnerable, remember?" Lois sighed._

 _Diana thought for a moment. "Do you believe that has something to do with why I can not do this correctly?"_

 _"Just a guess." Lois smiled. Diana frowned. "What I don't get is you!" Lois continued._

 _"Excuse me?" Diana replied, her eyes narrowing._

 _"You. Them. This whole damned island!"_

 _Diana sat up then, her crystal blue eyes suddenly very serious. "Superman… Clark… expressed to me that you desired to come and stay here with us for your vacation. If you find the island, or the company, not to your liking, we can contact him and arrange for him to come and take you home."_

 _Lois waved her hand and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Diana." She began. "That came out wrong. You have been great. All the women here have made me feel more than welcomed. In fact, everything here has been perfect. Everything: the food, the weather, the sand, the water. Everything is perfect! And that's what I don't get!"_

 _Diana frowned again. "Things are as they always are here." She explained. "What you refer to as perfection, I only see the norm."_

 _"That's my point!" Lois said, tossing her hands in the air._

 _Diana looked at her for a long moment. "Perhaps you have had too much sun." she said softly._

 _Lois laughed. "My first day here," she began. "We went horse-back riding around the island. My horse stumbles, throws me, and not only do you catch me and probably save me from breaking my neck; but you throw the horse over your shoulders and carry it back to the stable!"_

 _"Was I just supposed to leave it there?" Diana asked sitting up._

 _Lois laughed again. "The second day, I participated in what I can only describe as the most grueling morning exercise known to man… or woman for that matter. This morning," she went on. "We got massages before breakfast, listened to some of the most beautiful poetry and songs I've ever heard, and now we are lying on the whitest beach I've ever seen; on top of sand that, even though I'm laying here almost naked, doesn't seem to get into any cracks or crevasse…"_

 _This time, Diana giggled slightly._

 _"I mean every woman on this island; stable girl, teacher, cook, guard, healer; chamber maid; every single one of you. You're all built like Hugh Heffner's next wet dream!"_

 _"Who's Hugh Heffner?"_

 _Lois smiled "And every single one of you can fight better than almost any man I've ever met!"_

 _Wonder Woman folded her arms under her massive bosoms and raised an eyebrow. "Almost?"_

 _Lois roared with laughter and fell back into the sand. Diana simply glared at her and shook her head. "Definitely too much sun." Diana breathed._

 _"God!" Lois yelled. She looked at her raven haired companion. "You are the strongest woman in the world. If you arm-wrestled Clark, I wouldn't be sure who to put my money on. You could beat the cape off of Bruce any day of the week, and maybe even beat the Flash in a game of 'Hot Hands'…"_

 _"Hot what?"_

 _"And even if you didn't have all that going for you…" Lois continued. "You could get rich off your face and body alone!"_

 _"I'm not sure I follow you, Lois." Diana admitted._

 _Lois sighed. "You're one of the most beautiful women I've ever met. You are very intelligent, if not a bit naïve. You're the princess of a mystic island that is the closest thing to perfect paradise anyone could imagine, the Ambassador of Peace and Wisdom throughout the world…"_

 _"What's your point?" Diana asked, slightly annoyed._

 _"My point is that you have the type of life little girls dream about!" Lois sat up again. "You have everything anyone could ever ask for. A life of pure perfection! Yet you're out there! You're out there risking your life next to the boys; fighting intergalactic bad-guys, supernatural zombies, and evil super-geniuses; when you could be jet setting around the globe, walking runways, posing at photo shots, living a life of glamour and wealth!" Lois tossed her hands into the air and let out a heavy breath as she fell back into the sand. "I just don't get it." she breathed._

 _Diana regarded her for a long moment. Then she turned her eyes towards the seas and gentle crashing waves._

 _"As you know," she began; her voice soft, her tone even. "Superman… Clark is one of my closest friends."_

 _"Yeah." Lois said, her arm shielding her eyes from the bright sun._

 _Diana was silent for a long moment._

 _"We he first told us; Bruce and I, of his intention to marry you, I asked him 'Why?'" She went on._

 _"Excuse me?" Lois asked, sitting up on her elbows, glaring at the Amazonian powerhouse._

 _"I asked him: Of all the women in the world, why her? What makes her so… special?"_

 _"Jealous much?" Lois said, sitting up completely._

 _Diana turned towards her, her eyes a mixture of determination and focus. It was a look that made many a bad guy shake in his boots and turn tail and run._

 _Lois met her gaze evenly._

 _"Do you know what he told me?" Diana asked._

 _Lois raised an angry eyebrow in response._

 _"He said: 'Although she's beautiful; it's not her looks. Although she's smart; it's not her mind. For all the hours she spends at the gym, it's not her body. It's her spirit!' he said. 'She approaches the world like she's ten feet tall. She never backs down from challenge. She's constantly throwing herself into dangerous situations, always running into the fire when everyone else is trying to run out. She goes after stories, after life, with a reckless abandon few people have.'"_

 _Diana turned back towards the ocean then. "'I can fly.' he said. 'I can move at super-speeds. I can melt steel with my eyes, blow out a volcano, see through anything but lead, and except for Kryptonite and magic, I'm nearly invulnerable. But when I look into her eyes, when I touch her skin, when I hear her voice, when I kiss her lips… that's the closest to vulnerable I ever feel.'"_

 _Lois blushed. Her gaze faltered and she found herself looking at the sand and water._

 _"And do you know what I told him?" Diana continued._

 _"What?" Lois asked softly._

 _"I told him he was making a mistake!" she admitted, turning back towards her, her eyes fierce._

 _Lois looked as if she had just been slapped across the face._

 _"I told him you were too stubborn!" she continued. "I told him you were head strong and impulsive! That you got yourself into more trouble than you knew how to get out of. That you ran when you should walk. You spoke when you should be silent, and that you were a distraction that he, the League, and the rest of the world, could ill afford! And you know what?"_

 _Lois, mouth hanging opened and speechless, didn't respond._

 _"I was right!" Diana said harshly._

 _Lois was on her feet, her hands balled into fist, her chest heaving. "Where the hell do you get off!?" she fumed._

 _Diana was suddenly standing, looking down at Lois. Way down._

 _"But that was before I knew you," she said calmly. "Truly knew you."_

 _Lois blinked at her, Diana's eyes now full of kindness and caring._

 _"You are stubborn." She said softly. "But that is only because you refuse to allow any one, or anything, to stand in your way when you set your mind on something. You are head strong, but it's because your purpose is so clear, your goal so apparent. You run because you have no fear. You speak when others don't have the courage." Diana raised a soft, perfect hand to Lois's face and brushed back a lock of hair. Lois flinched, but did not try to stop her._

 _Diana caressed her face softly. "These past few days, I have seen you ride the wildest of our horses…"_

 _"Is that why they called him 'Demon'?" Lois asked with a frown._

 _Diana smiled and nodded. "And when he threw you, you didn't scream or cry out for help. You braced yourself for what was to come. I have seen you stand and train with the finest warriors in the world and never give and inch. And even now, you stand against what you yourself have called the strongest woman in the world, and are prepared to fight in defense of your honor."_

 _"What?" Lois asked, face serious. "You don't think I could take you?"_

 _Diana gave her a smile that adults usually reserve for small children, but did not answer. "You are the woman you are. As the Gods intended you to be! You do not try to hide who you are, or run from your destiny; you embrace it. You go after it with reckless abandon. Often at your own peril, but I'm sure you would not want it any other way."_

 _Lois smiled slightly._

 _"We amazons are the same. We are as the Gods intended us to be. We are mothers, daughters, and sisters. We are teachers and philosophers, bringers of peace and kindness. And yes, each and every one of us is a warrior born. You ask me why I fight; why I risk my life against countless villains, only to have another arise in its place. I ask you, sister; why do you travel the world, chasing stories, seeking truth and understanding, revealing what you find to the world. It's because that's who you are. I fight for those who cannot, because that is who I am!"_

 _Lois let the amazons' words sink in quietly, her eyes looking at the gentle face of the taller woman. "I was wrong about one thing, however…" Diana admitted._

 _"What was that?"_

 _"When he married you," Diana smiled. "It was no mistake. When Clark is with you, he has a chance to be normal; too truly be human. He gets a chance to forget about being Earths greatest champion. When he's with you, all he has to worry about is being your husband. Superman needs that. The world needs Superman. Superman… Clark… needs you."_

 _Lois looked up at the taller woman; a woman that could crush boulders with her hands, a woman that could fly, deflect a hail of gunfire with her bracelets, and force the truth from any ones lips with her lasso._

 _"I…I don't know what to say…" she said finally._

 _"Nothing needs to be said, sister." Diana replied. "Come. Let us head back to the palace for lunch." Diana knelt down and pulled her toga from the sand, shook it once, and wrapped herself in it. Lois did the same. They began walking towards the path that led to the heart of Paradise Island._

 _"I could have taken you, you know…" Lois said softly as they walked._

 _Diana laughed slightly. "I am sure you would have tried, Lois." She replied with a wide smile.  
"I am sure you would have tried."_


	13. Chapter 13

"The King of the Sea" was an ivory behemoth floating atop the Atlantic, just five miles of the coast of Manhattan. The two hundred and fifty seven foot super yacht had five levels, eight state rooms, full crew quarters, and an onboard navigation and weather tracking "auto captain" that made a traditional crew unnecessary.

Lex Luthor was at the back of the yacht, seated comfortably in the large twelve person hot tub, currently with only one other person; a blonde model Superman recognized from a lingerie ad in the Planet. They were sipping champagne and he was currently feeding her strawberries.

They were both naked.

Superman hovered to just above the deck of the ship. The blonde noticed him first, gasping loudly and crossing her arms over her chest.

Luthor turned and saw his nemesis then. He glared at Superman, the seething hatred he felt for the alien clearly visible in his bright green eyes.

"We need to talk." Superman said plainly, his voice indicating it wasn't a request.

Lex didn't respond at first. He just stared daggers at the man of steel.

A long silence passed between the two men. Their eyes were locked; neither moved.

The blonde looked from Superman, to Lex, and back again.

"Leave us." Lex said finally.

It took the woman a moment to realize he meant her.

"Lex, I'm naked." She said.

Lex sighed. "He has x-ray vision." he said flatly. "And you're sitting in water. Clear water!"

She frowned, pouted, then climbed out of the hot tub, found the closest towel, and disappeared into the ships interior.

The two men were alone.

"If you would like an interview, Mr. Kent, you should schedule and appointment with my secretary."

"You seem surprisingly cheery for someone whose power plant just underwent an attack. Not to mention the people who died." Superman stated.

"You mean the people you killed." Lex said coldly.

"I saved the people on the tram-" Superman began.

"And killed the people on the ferry!" Lex said, reaching for the bottle of champagne sitting beside the Jacuzzi. "If Superman saves the people on the tram, than a number of people equal to that of the trams passengers will die in their place!' Wasn't that what the radio said?" Lex asked.

Superman's eyes narrowed, but he didn't respond.

"Tell me, Superman… or should I call you 'Clark'? Did you think the message was a bluff, or did you just not care? Did you think that the actions of the 'Man of Steel' were above repercussion? That you were above consequence?"

"Did you have anything to do with this?" Superman asked; the anger in his voice apparent.

"You didn't answer my question." Lex replied.

"Answer me!" Superman shouted.

Lex sighed. He looked at the man hovering before him.

"All the muscle… and no brains." he said finally. He raised his champagne flute to his lips, but the fine crystal glass shattered in his hands. He looked up at Superman to see his eyes glowing with fire… and anger.

Lex threw the stem of the flute; all that remained in his hands; at Superman. It bounced harmlessly of the "S".

"That's Bulgari crystal!" Lex fumed. Superman didn't respond. "You idiot!" Lex continued. "Do you really think I would sabotage myself just to get to you? My own tram?! My own ferry!? My own employees!? What do I have to gain from any of this? Insurance money? I'm already a billionaire! The insurance policies from the ferry and tram combined won't cover the employees you killed!"

"I didn't kill anyone!" Superman shouted.

"Didn't you!?" Lex shouted back. "Who ever is behind this warned you; told you point blank what would happen if you got involved. Did you listen? No? You did whatever you wanted and said to hell with the consequences! Just like you always do!"

"I was trying to save the lives of the people on the tram!" Superman explained.

Lex just looked at him. "And save them you did." He said plainly. "How does it feel… hero?"

Superman looked at him heatedly... a bit of the anger fading. He slowly turned and began to rise into the air.

"If I find out you had anything to do with this, Luthor…" he said behind him.

"Save the treats, alien." Luthor replied evenly. "If you really want to find out who's responsible for all this, look in the mirror!"

Superman didn't respond. He just flew away.


	14. Chapter 14

Lois woke to gentle nudges and her name being said softly. However, to her, it felt as if someone was shouting her name in the middle of an earthquake!

"Lois." the voice called out.

Her eyes opened slowly. She was expecting to see the crystal blue orbs and familiar handsome features of her husband. Instead, she was looking up at green eyes and a somewhat familiar face.

"I'm awake…" she sighed. "Stop yelling!"

Jeremiah laughed. "I wasn't yelling."

Lois frowned. "What time is it? … and where's the rat?" she asked, sitting up. The world swam and her head felt like someone was beating it with a hammer. A sledgehammer.

"It's a quarter to eight." Jeremiah answered. "And what rat?"

"The one that crapped in my mouth while I was sleeping." Lois answered. Jeremiah laughed. "Wait," she said; her eyes suddenly wide. "Did you say a quarter to eight?"

Jeremiah nodded.

Lois leapt from the bed and was rummaging through her luggage. "Damnit!" she shouted as she pulled a fresh pair of jeans and a blouse from her bags. "The demonstration's-"

"Is in fifteen minutes." Jeremiah told her. "Actually, fourteen minutes and eight seconds."

"Not helping!" Lois breathed.

"Most of the others are already in the cafeteria finishing breakfast. I noticed you weren't there and figured you were still sleep." Jeremiah explained. "I brought you some coffee and toast." He gestured towards a plate and cup sitting on the overnight stand.

"Thanks." Lois said as she pulled her top off, her black bra clearly visible. Jeremiah was polite enough to turn his head. She pulled on her clean blouse and buttoned it hastily, then removed her pants and quickly pulled on her jeans.

"I should wait outside…" Jeremiah offered.

"Why?" Lois asked, stuffing her blouse into her jeans. "I'm dressed."

He turned and watched her pull her hair into a sever ponytail, wrapping it with a hair tie. She then scooped up the cup of coffee, drank a mouth full, swished it around her mouth a la mouthwash, then spit it into a plant beside her bed. Finally, she grabbed a slice of toast from the plate, folded it in half, dipped it repeatedly into the remaining coffee, then stuffed the entire soggy mass into her mouth and began to chew.

"Let's go." She said to Jeremiah, as she grabbed her bag of equipment and headed towards the door.

Jeremiah swallowed hard and followed her out.

Everyone was in the common room now, huddled close together in a group. Dr. Stangin was there, with his ever present team of assistants, as well as his fiancé, Natasha. He smiled as they entered the common room.

"Now then." He said brightly. "That seems to be everyone."

Lois nervously flattened the front of her blouse and was immediately aware of the fact she had missed a button. She cussed silently to herself.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began. "I am honored to have you as my guest, but we are about to tread on delicate ground. I ask that you all pay close attention to the instructions of either myself or my assistants, as many of are instruments are very delicate and some even unstable. For your safety, as well as for the preservation on the lab, please be very careful. Also, while audio recording devices are acceptable, I do ask that no video or photographic equipment be brought beyond this point."

A few groans and moans then. Dr. Stangin raised his hands to silent the crowd. "I understand that for many of you, this is a difficult request, but as much of our research is still in process, I can't have someone out there pirating my work, either intentionally or otherwise. Please…"

While many of the members still fussed, they all complied with their host request. Bags of cameras and video recorders were placed on table tops, chairs and even the floor.

"Now then," he continued when everyone was done. "If you will all follow me."

They went through the main entrance and down a long hall. Lois noticed a slight downgrade as they walked. The hall turned right, and then left, and came to a large set of steel double doors. To the left, there was a small green panel.

Jeremiah approached the panel and placed his hand against it. There was a quick burst of green light, followed by a series of beeping sounds from the panel.

"Good morning, Dr. Stangin." a voice called out from seemingly nowhere.

"Good morning, Alisa." Dr. Stangin answered.

The sound of metal on metal could be heard from behind the doors, gears and motors working, and the twin steel plates slid apart, revealing the room beyond.

"Fingerprint scanner?" someone asked.

"DNA reader." Dr. Stangin answered. "Alisa will only allow someone access to the lab if their biometrics, specifically there DNA, has been preauthorized."

"Who's Alisa?" someone else questioned.

Dr. Stangin smiled widely and looked over the group. "You're standing in her." He said plainly.

He walked into the lab.

The area was a mixture of stainless steel tables and stands, sophisticated computer and electronic equipment, soft white walls, and bright lights. The room itself was actually multi layered, Lois noticed as she stepped inside. The floors were actually transparent; presumably the same material the wall in the cafeteria was made of. There were four levels total, one above her, and two below her.

At the room's center, there was a large black column, rows and rows of amber blinking lights running the length. Lois could see through the floors above and below that the column ran the height of the room.

"Autonomous Logistic Intelligence and Science Assistant." Dr. Stangin said, gesturing towards the black column. "A.L.I.S.A."

"Yes Doctor?" the voice replied. The lights of the column faded and a cluster in the center flashed repeatedly, changing colors in the process. The LED's blinked and flashed and took shape; a woman's torso, arms, and head. A woman with long hair; pulled into a tight sever ponytail, green eyes, and a bright smile.

People applauded.

"Remarkable." Lois heard someone say.

"Amazing." Someone else added.

"Is the A.I. fully functional?" some asked.

"See for yourself." Dr. Stangin offered, stepping aside.

Many people stepped forward, ogling the woman's visage on the black column.

"Umm… Hello?" a nervous scientist said.

"Good morning." Alisa replied. "You are Dr. Rupert Brown. Graduate from UCLA, Class of 1989. PhD's in Nuclear Engineering. Nobel Prize second runner-up in 1993. Welcome."

Rupert laughed. "What are you?" he asked.

"I am Dr. Stangins' assistant." Alisa answered matter-of-factly.

"I mean…" Rupert corrected himself. "What is your primary function?"

"My primary program is to oversee all of the functions of the Stangin Research Facility, as well as the needs of all its inhabitants. However, I also enjoy, cooking, painting, and correcting many of Dr. Stangins' miscalculations."

Laughter followed.

"That's enough, Alisa." Dr. Stangin interrupted, stepping in front of the image.

"Did it say cooking and painting?" Lois asked.

"She." Dr. Stangin corrected. "And yes; "she" does love to cook and paint. Last night's banquet, as well as all the meals here, are prepared by Alisa. The kitchen is one hundred percent automated. From the freezer to the plate; it's all Alisa. She also painted the portraits hanging in the common room."

"That's remarkable." Someone said.

"Thank you." Alisa answered. "Although I must admit I was a bit worried about last night's meal. I over cooked the chicken by point eight three seconds. It wasn't too tough was it?"

Laughter again.

"It was delicious, Alisa." Dr. Stangin reassured her. "I swear…" he said to the group "If Natasha new how to cook as well as Alisa, I'd erase her hard drive and sell it for scrap."

"And if I had a body," Alisa interrupted. "You'd be marring me instead."

Even Lois had to laugh at that.

"Alright, if you would all follow me this way…" Dr. Stangin called out, a wide smile on his face. A few of the scientist linger for a moment, fascinated with the living computer.

"Gentlemen, if you please." this from Natasha.

"Yes." Alisa urged. "The presentation is about to begin. You can come back and play with me later."

The remaining men laughed and then moved in the direction Natasha indicated.

Natasha cast a quick glance at the image of the long hair, green eyed woman on the column. "Bitch." she breathed.

"I heard that." Alisa said. The image disappeared, and the amber lights returned.

Dr. Stangin was leading the rest of the group down a flight of stairs to the lower levels. Lois was halfway down the flight when she noticed Jeremiah still standing in front of the column. She climbed back up the stairs and joined him.

He was looking at it as if his eyes were seeing something else.

"What is it?" Lois asked.

He blinked once and turned to her. A weak smile appeared. "Nothing." he said softly. "It's just… an amazing piece of equipment."

Lois's eyes narrowed and her head tilted to one side. Her gut was telling her something; something years of journalistic intuition told her was there, beneath the surface… Then again, it could have been the hangover.

"Come on." Jeremiah urged, walking past her. "We don't want to miss the show!"

Lois followed him down the stairs.

The next level was home to the same stainless steel tables and work areas, but also held a wall full of animal pens. Rabbits, mice, dogs, cats, monkeys, and a collection of birds all rested inside transparent cages.

Jeremiah and Lois joined the group as Natasha was speaking to them. "… And hopefully," she continued. "We'll be ready for human trials within the next two years."

"What a minute!" someone shouted. "You're saying you've found a cure! A cure for cancer!"

"I said we have been able to reverse the tumors growth and render them benign in nine out of ten of our test subjects. But human physiology is a great deal more complex than even our closest mammalian counterpart, the ape. There's still much work to be done." Natasha explained.

"We don't want to offer false hope to anyone." Dr. Stangin stepped in. "We want to be sure a cure, if found, is completely viable! Not just some quick fix or band-aid on an open wound, but a life saving application. And we are willing to take as long as is necessary to ensure just that. But alas, we are here to discuss Nuclear Fusion, are we not?" he smiled. "This way please…"

They continued down to the final level. It was a large room, nearly twice the size of the other levels, and it was almost completely empty save for the large black column in the room's center.

Dr. Stangin walked towards the column and pressed a switch. A green panel appeared among the amber lights. Dr. Stangin pressed his hand against it. A series of beeps followed. Then the room went dark.

A few people gasped. "No need to be alarmed…" he assured them.

A moment later the room became illuminated again. Rather, there was a dim light that appeared against the far wall. It was followed by another. And another. And another. A total of seven dim lights, hovering in space.

Dr. Stangin walked over to the glowing light in the center… and touched it. A virtual console flashed to life. Three screens appeared, suspended in mid air, seemingly made of nothing but amber light. A tilted keyboard also appeared, also floating in air, also made of the same amber light.

Dr. Stangin began typing on the keypad; his keystrokes marked by a soft chime with ever press.

"That's a T748 VCON prototype…" someone noted, gesturing to the console. "There's only three in the world. How'd you get your hands on one?"

"Actually," Dr. Stangin answered, as he continued to enter commands into the console. "This is a T850. And it's the only one of its kind, I assure you." The other members of his team took up flanking positions next to him; three on each side. They each touched the floating light and a similar virtual console appeared before each of them. They all began typing on the virtual keypads, various readouts and images flashing on the console screens. "

"Alisa?" Dr. Stangin called out.

"I am here." The disembodied voice replied.

"Is everything in place?" he asked.

"Yes doctor." The computer answered. "We are ready to begin."

"Very good." He smiled. "Retract reactor shielding." He ordered. With a gentle hum of motors and servos, the wall before them began to slide down. As it did, the room was washed in a glow of emerald light.

Lois raised her hand to protect her eyes from the sudden change. After they adjusted, she took in what she saw.

There, on the other side of the same transparent material, was the core of a nuclear reactor. Lois could see fuel rods, lined in three rows of four, all roughly ten feet long, and all glowing bright green. Behind that was a large round chamber that Lois didn't recognize.

"Is that a Tokomak?" someone asked.

"A small one, yes." Dr. Stangin answered.

It was then that Lois noticed the entire construct was inside a room of ice.

"Dr. Stangin…" she called out. "Shouldn't there be some type of shielding?"

He smiled. "I assure you, we are quite safe." he answered.

"No…" she continued. "I mean the ice. Isn't there a risk of nuclear meltdown, burn-off, or even waste for that matter? The ice…"

"The ice is the key!" Dr. Stangin replied.

They all watched silently as he pressed a series of buttons on the virtual console before him. There was the sound of motors and servos moving. Inside the Tokomak, a panel slid open, and a cluster of emerald hued rods began to slowly slide into view.

"The fuel rods," this from Jeremiah. "Are those-?"

"Kryptonite? Yes." Dr. Stangin answered.

A collective gasp went through the room.

"Are you insane!?" someone yelled. Lois turned and saw it was the French woman with the thick accent. "Kryptonite is too unstable to be used as nuclear material! Zhey tested zhree grams in ze Ukraine facility and nearly destroyed half ze country! You'll kill us all!"

Dr. Stangin laughed; an eerie sound among the worried chatter and comments.

"I'm getting out of here!" a man shouted.

"Alisa," Dr. Stangin said softly. "Please seal the room."

"Of course, Doctor." The voice replied. The main door slid shut and locked.

"What the hell are you doing?" the man said, banging on the transparent door. "Let me out of here!" he yelled.

Dr. Stangin looked at his assistant and smiled. She smiled back.

"Is this what you brought us here for, Stangin?" someone yelled. "To kill us all?"

"Death is but a doorway to a new life." he answered.

Lois was breathing hard and fast, her heart was pounding. She didn't know what to do. Had she really been invited to the ends of the world just to be killed in some twisted mass murder slash suicide plot? It didn't make sense. She new that attempts at nuclear fusion involving kryptonite were dangerous, Clark had once talked to her about how unstable it was and the risks that were involved. The words "disastrous" and "apocalyptic" had been used. And the scientist, especially the physicist, seemed to be on the verge of panic. One of them was even beginning to cry…

Lois was looking around the room, scanning faces full of fear, and terror, and confusion, and … curiosity?

Jeremiah looked like a kid watching a new episode of his favorite cartoon. His eyes were wide, his face full of anticipation and excitement. He was taking small slow steps forward, almost trance-like; mesmerized by the emerald glow of the kryptonite rods and the hum of the Tokomak.

He drew even with Dr. Stangin and his team. Stangin himself glanced at him. Jeremiah looked back. The two men smiled at each other, then turned their eyes back towards the glow.

"Alisa," Dr. Stangin said in a loud clear voice. "Begin fusion process!"

"Fusion Initiated." Alisa responded.

There was a loud ringing; not a bell, but the sound of a hundred wind chimes being rustled at once by a gentle breeze. It was almost harmonic, but lacked rhythm or consistency.

Inside the Tokomak, the rods began to glow brighter. The entire dome-like structure was now green. The lights shined into the room were they all stood, bathing them in emerald hues.

The light grew brighter still, and Lois had to shield her eyes. She could faintly see the rods themselves, which had grown to faint lines of green and white. She watched threw her fingers as the rods slowly began to… evaporate. They seemed to simply turn to dust, or ash, or particles; and be swept away in the maelstrom of heat and energy generated in the reactor core. The rods grew smaller and thinner, until they were simply no more. And with the fading of the final rod, the emerald glow faded as well. It was replaced by a soft red light. A light that was pure energy.

"Fusion Process completed." Alisa announced.

"Display reactor readings." Stangin ordered.

A holographic screen flashed to life over the entirety of the transparent window. Nearly a dozen readouts were streaming across. There was a bar graph, pie charts, a line graph; all with numbers and symbols Lois couldn't make heads or tails of.

"That's impossible." Someone stated, walking towards the screen. "According to this," the man continued, pointing at the center of the screen. There was a large bold index and line graph there. Next to it was the words "Power Output". Along the top and bottom were numbers and symbols. "The reactor is generating over 48 nanojoules per second."

"That's correct." Dr. Stangin replied.

"That's impossible." A woman remarked.

"Nothings impossible." He smiled.

"You did it." Jeremiah whispered. Dr. Stangin looked at him and smiled brightly. "You crazy sonova bitch. You actually did it!"

"Did what exactly?" Lois said stepping forward.

"He did it." Jeremiah repeated. "Sub-zero reaction and fusion in a contained environ, creating an energy output that's directly proportionate to the fusion field and reaction time, but without the heat and radiation... Using kryptonite, for God's sake! I don't believe it!"

Lois snapped her fingers next to Jeremiah face and he looked at her as if she just appeared. "Welcome back." She poked. "Remember me? One of the few in the room that doesn't have a degree in science-speak. Mind dumbing it down a little?"

Jeremiah blinked at her and then smiled.

"A nuclear reactor works by basically splitting the atoms of a specific material or element, generally uranium. The heat that's released by the reaction heats water, the resulting steam is captured and used to power turbines engines, which in turn generate electricity and, voila, your lights work. But that also produces radiation, and the control rods that are used to help regulate the temperature are usually melted unto a type of sludge, nuclear waste."

"With you so far…" Lois stated. "Keep going."

"Well, this reactor, it doesn't generate heat. It generates energy. And because it's incased in a sub-zero environment, it doesn't require control rods for regulation. No waste."

"What happened to the kryptonite rods?" Lois questioned.

"They were fused during the reaction."

Lois blinked at him. "You lost me."

"Basically, they were broken down to the molecular level and fused with other molecules. That's were the energy is coming from. Basically, the atoms are been split and then fused back together, and then split again, creating a nearly endless cycle of energy production."

"Okay…" Lois said slowly. "So how much power are we talking here?" she asked.

Jeremiah turned back towards the large screen. "Well, if the readings are correct… more than any other reactor on the planet… or all of them combined for that matter."

"Give me a point of reference here." Lois urged.

Jeremiah frowned. "Well," he began. "Imagine stuffing the sun into a flashlight."

Lois thought for a moment… then whistled. "Wow." She said.

"Exactly." Jeremiah replied. He turned back towards Stangin. "How?" he asked.

Stangin smiled wide. He looked at Lois, his eyes twinkling. "Ironically, I owe it all to the two of you."

"What do you mean?" Lois asked. "What did we do?"

"What you do best." Stangin responded simply. He smiled at their puzzled looks. "I will explain everything in a moment. But first, let us celebrate!" he said the last part loudly, letting his voice carry throughout the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he went on. The buzzing conversation and questions slowly died down, but the excited tension still filled the room. "Ladies and Gentlemen! You have all just witnessed the culmination of a lifetime of work and research! Subzero fusion! Limitless energy! No waste, no radiation. The days of polluting our planet with toxic materials are behind us. The days of endangering or home, or cities, or nations with the fear of nuclear meltdown are a thing of the past! We stand today on the edge of a bright new tomorrow. We stand… on the edge of the future!"

Thunderous applause filled the room. Lois looked around at the journalist and scientist surrounding her. Faces were lit up like Christmas trees with excitement. One woman had tears in her eyes.

"Alisa?" Stangin called out.

"Yes, Dr. Stangin?" the disembodied voice responded.

"Is the luncheon prepared?" he asked.

"Yes." She answered. "Although, I'm a bit worried about the salmon. I may have over seasoned it. Seven to twelve additional grains of seasoning feel on each piece. I hope it still tastes all right."

Laughter followed.

"If we could all meet in the cafeteria for a champagne lunch, I'll be happy to answer all your questions." Stangin urged.

And with that, the room began to empty as everyone made their way back up the stairs towards the upper levels of the complex.

All but Jeremiah.

Lois was halfway up the stairs when she noticed him.

He stood before the transparent wall and looked into the reactor core, the bright crimson light dancing and pulsing before him.

Lois drew even with him.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"It's amazing." he said softly.

Lois looked at the red pulsing energy before her. A shudder ran through her body. She let out a slow breath. "I am become death," she whispered. "And the destroyer of worlds."

Jeremiah looked at her.

"When Robert Oppenheimer witnessed the first atomic explosion… he realized at that moment the destructive power that had just been unleashed. He realized that the same thing that could be used to power the world could also be used to destroy it. Stangin just multiplied that by three hundred…"

"I'm familiar with the quote." He smiled. Then he looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Lois," he began; his voice low and soft. "I understand, maybe more than anyone, the dangers that are presented by men with power; power so great and terrible that the rest of the world can't do anything but cower in fear and awe. But believe me when I tell you that this…" he gestured towards the reactor core. "This is something the world needs. Something our children will thank us for. This… this is what saves the world. This _is_ our future."

Lois looked at him then. She looked deep into his green eyes and for the briefest of moments, she saw something that she would later swear was sorrow.

And just like that, it was gone. He smiled at her, the smile reaching his eyes, making the twinkle slightly.

"C'mon." he urged, taking her by the hand. "I'm sure we could both use a glass of champagne and I know you have an arms length worth of questions for Stangin."

Lois smiled back, but it didn't reach her eyes. "The last thing I need more of is champagne!"

They ascended the stairs towards the upper levels in silence. Her mind was too focused on what she had just seen.

" _A Kryptonite powered nuclear fusion reactor!_ " she thought ominously. " _Clark is just going to love this!_ "


	15. Chapter 15

The Luncheon was that in name only. That is to say, there was food; trays and trays of food. Smoked Salmon, roasted chicken, inch thick grilled steaks, fresh steamed vegetables, and a fresh tossed salad.

None of which had been so much as touched since the group returned to the dining hall. What Dr. Stangin had originally intended to be a meal and conversation had turned into a full-fledged press conference.

He and his team now sat at a large round table in front of the large transparent wall, a small group of sea lions swimming curiously behind them in the crystal blue waters. On the table before them were a dozen handheld digital recorders.

The rest of the group crowded around the other side, all jockeying for position, waiting for their chance to ask their burning questions.

Lois was seated at the table, her own digital recorder on the table just in front of her. She held her pen and pad in her hands, but as of yet, had not written down a single word. It wasn't that nothing interesting had been said. Point to fact, there were numerous times during Dr. Stangins' explanation of his research that the rest of the group would either "OHHH" or "AHHH" or even applaud. Lois was sure that anyone with a PhD in Nuclear Science, Physics, or Quantum Mathematics would have found this the most interesting conversation in history. Lois, on the other hand, only heard words she would have to look up later, if she ever figured out how to spell them.

"Once we solved the reverse fusion dynamic principle," Dr. Stangin continued. "The rest was relatively easy. It was simply a matter of finding the right fusion to mass ration, compensating for the energy to cubic inch output, and developing a generation and storage unit that could withstand the positive and negative ion flux. I'm sure Einstein could have done it half asleep while translating the bible to Latin…"

Everyone laughed. Everyone, except for Lois.

"Dr. Stangin," she said loudly, taking the opportunity to ask the only question she could think of amidst all the math and science.

"Yes, Ms. Lane." He answered with a pleasant smile.

"You said earlier that Mr. Kuttler and I were in some way responsible for your breakthrough. Could you elaborate on that, please?"

His smile widened and he leaned forward. "Ah, yes," he said softly. "Well, it's a little known secret that Jeremiah Kuttler and I attended MIT together."

All eyes turned to Jeremiah then. They found him sitting off to the side, his pale green eyes sparkling slightly at the mention of his name. He looked at Dr. Stangin and smiled.

"We were close friends then," Dr. Stangin continued. "And bitter rivals, as most alpha males tend to be. Our IQ's and egos often got the better of us, I'm afraid. It seems we were in a constant game of one-upmanship, whether it be test scores, class projects, science exhibits, you name it. We were always at each other. But there was always respect and I can only speak for myself when I say a great deal of admiration for the other. Jeremiah has one of the keenest minds I've ever seen. He tackled the most complicated expressions like it was child's play. What most students took weeks or even months to understand, Jeremiah took mere moments. It was as if math was his native tongue and we were all trying to learn his language."

The two men eyed one another for several moments of silence, years of unspoken words passing between them.

"It wasn't until senior year that Jeremiah proved without a doubt that he was the far superior intellect. He proved that there are far greater passions and pursuits in life than mathematic equations and theories. Far greater… loves."

The dark shadow passed over Jeremiahs face for an instant, then disappeared as he lowered his head and eyes, looking at the floor.

Lois noticed it, but doubted if anyone else did.

"It was our junior year that Kryptonite was first introduced to the world; a strange alien substance that was found in a small town in Kansas. Smallville to be exact. I small fragment was brought to MIT for study. Jeremiah and I were selected to the lead research team there. Out job was to quantify and categorize all the fragments properties, its possible origin, and its possible application.

"It was originally Jeremiahs idea to consider it for possible nuclear applications. He postulated that because of its density, that there had to be a colossal amount of atoms that made up the whole, which could possible allow for a near infinite amount of perpetual energy if the atoms were somehow split and then harnessed. It was his ideas that lead to the experimentation in the Ukraine."

"But Monsieur Kuttler was not part of ze Ukrainian team." This from the French physicist.

"That's because I stole his idea and presented it as my own." Dr. Stangin admitted with a slight grin.

Gasps of disbelief, astonishment, and even contempt washed over the group like a wave. "That is _tre_ despicable." _Frenchy_ commented.

"Completely unprofessional!" someone else stated.

"Unbelievable."

"As I said," Dr. Stangin continued. "We were rivals. And I was desperate to step out of the shadow of his genius. I know it was wrong and I have attempted to contact Jeremiah numerous times to apologize, but he has past declined my attempts at contact.

"But as he is here now, I want him to know how sincerely sorry I am for what happened, and to tell him that, as this is as much his brainchild as it is mine, I plan to ensure that any and all patients that my research generates will be in both my name… and his."

Jeremiah looked up then, his eyes wide with surprise. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "I… I don't know what to say." He breathed.

"Nothing needs be said, old friend." Dr. Stangin smiled. "It is the least I can do."

Applause filled the room. Lois herself, who was admittedly lost in all the science and math, understood dollar signs. She realized that Dr. Stangin's research could very well revolutionize the way the world produced energy. She could envision dozens, if not hundreds of Stangin Model Nuclear Fusion reactors being built all over the world. That meant millions, perhaps, billions, for the one holding the blue-prints!

She looked from Jeremiah to Dr. Stangin.

"That explains his part in it all," she said loudly, her voice cutting through the applause. "But what's was my part in all this?"

Dr. Stangin smiled brightly at her.

"You spent the night with Superman." He said plainly.

Tanya made a sound that was half laugh, half cough.

"Excuse me?" she blushed, slightly taken aback.

Jeremiah leaned forward in his seat slightly.

Dr. Stangin's smile widened. "You did right an article entitled 'I spent the night with Superman', did you not?" he beamed.

Lois's throat was suddenly very dry. "I did." she answered, her voice weaker than she would have liked. "But that was a long time ago."

"It was." Dr. Stangin continued. "I remember reading it by sheer chance; on a flight back to the United States, just after the incident in the Ukraine. A most serendipitous turn of events, I must admit. There I was, sitting in my small coach seat, between and elderly woman who decided her cat was a perfect carry-on, and a gentleman that I can only describe as having the hygiene schedule of a water buffalo," a few laughs at that. "When, in an attempt to escape the aftermath of nearly destroying half a country, and trying to find a distraction from the hell of flying coach, I found an old folded up page from the Daily Planet. On it, Ms. Lane, was your article. I began to read it, at first as a distraction, but then, I was captivated by your description of your evening with the Man of Steel; your uncanny interview with him, and most importantly, your description of what you called his "Fortress of Solitude"."

"Of course." Jeremiah breathed. Lois and Stangin both turned and looked at him. Jeremiah's eyes went from Lois to Stangin and back again.

"See…" Stangin said softly. "The sharpest of minds." he whispered.

"What about the fortress?" Lois asked, turning her attention back to Stangin.

"To quote your own words:" Dr Stangin responded. " _A vast structure hidden in the barren Arctic landscape, this 'Fortress of Solitude' stands as a shrine dedicated to the memory of a distant world. Walls of angled crystal, floors of carved ice, and a ceiling of pure light, the alien structure is both awe inspiring and welcoming, as the internal temperature somehow stays a cozy seventy-two degrees. While the frozen sphere known as Krypton may have been lost to the cosmos, its last surviving son has ensured that its memory will live own here on earth._ "

"I wonder how long it took you to memorize that." Lois smiled.

"A few minutes," Stangin answered absentmindedly. "But you see… your article was the missing piece of the puzzle Ms. Lane. It made me realize exactly what we had been doing wrong!"

"I don't follow." Lois admitted.

"Kryptonite is from Krypton." This from Jeremiah.

"Well duh!" Lois teased.

"According to your article," Jeremiah continued undaunted. "Krypton was a frozen planet."

The light went off over Lois's head. "So it only makes since that it would react differently in a sub-zero environment than in what we consider a normal climate." She felt like she just got a "B+" on her science mid-term.

"Exactly!" Dr. Stangin beamed. "We ran test at both room temperature and then again at minus fifty degrees Celsius. And wouldn't you know that the readings in the Sub-zero experiment showed not only stable readings, but an energy output that far exceeded our original estimates. And now, four years later, here we are, Ms. Lane. Here we are!"

"So does that mean I get a portion of the patients too?" Lois asked.

Everyone laughed; except Dr. Stangin.

"No." he smiled. "But how does a twenty-five million dollar grant sound?" he said, his face suddenly serious.

And in one of the very rare moments in her life, Lois was speechless.


	16. Chapter 16

The thing about super-hearing most people never realized was the high level of concentration it took not only to use it properly, but to also keep from losing your mind.

It was like sitting in a room filled with a hundred radios, each one tuned to a different station. Some played music, some talk-radio, some the news, and some, just static. And each and every one of them were turned to the highest volume setting possible!

The trick was to learn how to first pick out the radio that was playing what you wanted to here, and then tune out everything else, until all that remained was what was important.

That was what Superman was doing.

He hovered two miles up, the bright lights of the city laid out like a blanket beneath him, the dark vale of the clear night sky above. To the east, he could see the first traces of dawn; black giving way to a purplish hue as the sun beckoned its approach.

He had been here all night. Ever since he left the company of his nemesis, he had taken up his "listening" post here in the sky, his eyes closed, his ears open.

It was a long shot, he knew. Hoping to catch a tell tale conversation, a whisper, the barest mention of a plot against him or the city. He listened hard to the sounds of the night; the cars on the expressway, the mingling of the nocturnal creatures as they bar-hopped and socialized, babies crying, couples arguing, couples making up.

But more often than not, throughout the course of the night, his highly sensitive ears had followed the squad of officers; five sets of two, as they went about their unfortunate duty: Notifying the next of kin.

From home to home they went, knocking on doors, ringing door bells, preparing to give the type of news that destroyed lives, broke families, and crushed hearts.

And he listened to each and every one.

"Is there a problem officer?" one woman answered?

"Are you Mrs. Henderson?"

"Yes. What's this about?"

"Ma'am, I'm afraid there's been an accident. Your husband was killed in an explosion…"

Another home;

"Dad! The cops are at the door!" a small boy shouts.

"Is there something I can help you with?" a man says a few moments later.

"Mr. Knowles?" the officer asks.

"Yes. Is David in some kind of trouble?"

"I didn't do anything!" the boy shouts.

"Was Angela Knowles your wife?" the officer asks.

A long silence passes.

"David, go to your room." He says, his voice cracking slightly.

"What's wrong with mom?" the boy asks.

"GO TO YOUR ROOM!" the man shouts.

Footsteps, followed by the sound of a door slamming shut.

Then the sound of a man crying.

That's how they all end; in tears. Some curse. Some scream and yell. Some ask God "why?" But end the end, they all cry.

And Superman listens. And he cries with them.

The morning is upon him when next he opens his eyes. The sun is well on its way into the sky. The sounds of the day have grown. The traffic below has doubled, tripled, and doubled again. The morning commute is in full swing.

Despite the events of the previous day, life, for some, goes on.

And with the surge of life, so surges the sounds. Car stereos blare and compete with horns and roaring engines. Semi-trucks, school buses, pedestrians walk and talk, joggers hum with the music from their headphones, birds sing, and dogs bark; life fills Metropolis.

And Superman listens.

His ears and eyes sweep over the city. Telescopic vision joins super-hearing in his search for answers: A woman in a brown two door yells at here daughter to hurry even as the child races down the steps of the house. A man on his cell phone makes plans to rendezvous with his lover, assuring her his wife thinks he has to be at work early. A woman shouts and runs towards the bus stop just as the double-length bus begins to pull away.

X-ray vision joins the effort.

In an office building, a man pours a healthy amount of whisky into his morning cup of coffee, and then hides the bottle back in his desk under a pile of files. Two buildings over; a couple kiss in the copy room. Down the block, a pair of warehouse workers talk about last night's game, saying how much of a nail bitter the ending was.

In another building, a woman is running frantically through the obstacle course of her office. She is holding a small manila envelope. She passes men in suits and men in uniform alike. Officers… and federal agents.

She burst into a large office filled with suits and breathlessly shouts "We got another one!"

That's when Superman realizes it's the Metro-One broadcast building.

"When?" Agent Davison asks.

"Arrived this morning with the mail." The woman answers, catching her breath.

"Have someone detain the delivery man. I want him brought in for questioning!" Davison shouts.

A uniformed officer begins talking into his shoulder mounted radio as he leaves the room.

Agent Davison takes the envelope from the woman's hand and begins to open it.

"Wait!" this from a small round man with balding hair. He's in a green tailored suit and matching tie. "What if it's a bomb?" he asks.

"It's not." Superman answers.

Every eye turned towards him then. They all look at him as if he just appeared out of thin air, which, as appearances go, is close. Super-speeding into an office building in less time than it takes to blink has that effect.

"I've scanned it with my x-ray." He continues. "There's nothing inside but a CD."

Agent Davison is the first to blink. "They don't knock where you're from?" he asked with a dry smile. Superman didn't answer; only continued to stare intently at the envelope.

Agent Davison shrugged, and then opened the envelope. The CD rolls easily out into his hands. He flips it over and looks at both sides. Both are completely blank.

He hands the envelope to a nearby agent. "Bag it and tag it." He orders. "Have the lab run it for prints, DNA, even air samples. "It'll come back clean. Do it anyway."

He looks at the small man in the green suit. "You got something to play this on?" he asks.

The small man, his forehead now covered in beads of sweat, his skin pale, raises a shaky hand and points at an expensive looking piece of stereo equipment mounted on the wall behind the desk.

Agent Davison walks over to it briskly and eyes it. It's the type that holds five CDs at once in a glass encasement. Agent Davison tries to pull the glass open, but it doesn't move. He searches for a button or switch, but finds none.

"You gotta push the little button in the side…" the small man says, but it's too late.

Agent Davison pulls free his firearm, and holds it by the barrel. Using it like a hammer, he shatters the glass with the butt of the weapon.

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" the small man shouts. "That thing cost me four thousand dollars!"

"Yeah?" Agent Davison asks, taking out the five CDs held in the stereo and gentle placing the new one inside. "I got a boom-box in my trunk. Only cost me twenty bucks. Great sound."

He presses the small button with the "Play" icon.

Silence filled the room. Long, tense moments passed.

"Innocents have suffered because of you." the same distorted, bass filled voice said at last. "How many victims have died because of your actions, Superman? How man families have been destroyed? How man lives have been shattered? Only now do the people of Metropolis begin to see what I have known for far too long. You are not our savior, Superman. You are our curse. Our demon. Our false God.

"You ignored my warnings, didn't you, Superman? You tried to save the people on the tram. You thought yourself above the warnings, above the consequences! You ignored me, didn't you?! And now, how many paid the price for your arrogance? How many now lay dead because of your pride?"

"But you will learn. All of Metropolis will learn, as I have. My next lesson… my next lesson is harder; harder to teach; harder to understand. And for that Metropolis, I am sorry. But you will all see that he cares not for you, this lion among lambs; but for his own glory and self-righteousness. He doesn't care who lives or who dies, so long as he is praised in the end.

"The children… they will teach him. Those who sit on rooftops and look out of windows in hopes of catching a glimpse of blue and crimson wings in flight… those who tie towels around there necks and paint "S"'s on their tee's… the will teach him. For what teaches us more than that which is lost?

"There are currently one hundred and nine grade school, middle school, and high school busses in service in Metropolis…" the voice continued. "All one hundred and nine of them have been wired with explosives. One hundred and eight of them are decoys. The real explosive device is scheduled to explode at precisely 7:38 the morning of this transmission."

"No…" Superman whispered.

"While I have no doubt that the combined effort of the Metropolis Police Department, Fire Department, and perhaps even the FBI, will have little trouble getting all the students to safety in time; I also have little doubt that Superman will intervene. But I warn you, Superman: Your involvement in this will be at the cost of bloodshed. The lives of the children are in your hands. Accept that you cannot save us. You can't even save yourself!"

Silence followed.


	17. Chapter 17

"What time is it!?" Davison barked.

"Six fifty-one." Someone answered.

Agent Davison was already moving towards the door as he shouted orders. "I want every available unit on the road; marked and unmarked, fire truck, ambulance, motorcycle units, bike cops, even mounted officers! They see a school bus, the stop it, evacuate it, and lock it down! Get the bomb squad on the horn and give them the heads up. Tell them to call in everyone they have. I don't care who's got the day off, who's on sick leave, or who's on vacation. I even want the guy that cleans the van suited up and ready to defuse a bomb if necessary!" They approached the elevators. "Get the Board of Education on the line. I need bus routes and schedules ASAP! I need bus dispatch to contact every driver and tell them that there's an "Amber Alert" in effect! I repeat: an "Amber Alert!" Tell them officers are going to check each bus for the missing child. Under no circumstances are they to be told that their bus is in danger. I don't want some driver making eighteen bucks and hour freaking out and leaving a bunch of kids to die."

He was jamming the down button furiously.

"I want a chopper in the park down the street in ten minutes. I'll coordinate all efforts from the air!"

The elevator doors opened with a ping and the swarm of agents packed inside. Only Superman stood outside the doors.

"We find the bus, we defuse the bomb!" Agent Davison urged. "Nothing else matters. No one dies today!"

"What can I do?" Superman asked.

Agent Davison gave him an icy look.

"What can you do?" he said to the red and blue clad superhero. "Don't try to help."

The elevator doors closed.

When the elevators doors opened again, it was into the lobby of the Metro One Broadcast building, Special Agent Davison wasn't that surprised to see Superman standing on the other side, a look of grim determination set in his face

"Maybe you misunderstood me." Superman said plainly.

"No." Davison said, pushing past him and walking quickly through the lobby. "Stop an earthquake in Peru. Turn back a meteor headed for earth. Save a dying star from collapsing. Hell, go to your little superhero club house and play scrabble with the Martian. I don't care what you do, but you are not getting involved in this, Superman!"

He pushed open the large glass double doors and walked outside, Superman just behind him.

"Innocent lives are in danger!" Superman said heatedly. "You can't expect me to just stand around doing nothing!"

Davison turned on his heels so quickly, Superman almost knocked him over.

"That's exactly what you're going to do!" he shouted. He drew even with Superman and looked him in the eyes. "You may not have noticed, but some madman has just waged war against you, and he's using all of Metropolis as his battlefield! Yesterday, you pulled over three dozen bodies out of Metropolis Bay, most of them in pieces. Yeah, you saved a few dozen, and yeah, you did the right thing. But today, if you do the right thing, if you do anything, then it won't be people on their way to work we're piecing together. It'll be kids on their way to school!"

"Agent Davison," Superman began. "Please understand. I can't just sit on the sidelines..."

"I don't have to understand anything!" Davison yelled; his face inches from Superman's. "But you better understand this, Superman: this is a federal investigation! I don't care what you've done in the past! Not how many criminals you captured! Not how many super-powered thugs you beat! Not how many times you saved the world! If you so much as x-ray one of those school buses, I'll have you locked in a kryptonite cell and up on federal charges so fast, you'll need super-speed just to keep up! Do I make myself clear!?"

The agents surrounding them exchanged nervous glances. They knew that there wasn't really anything any of them, including Davison, could do that would stop Superman from doing anything he wanted to do. If things went bad, he could wipe the street with all of them in a matter of seconds. But those who knew Special Agent Davison would say the same for him as well.

Superman looked down at him, the anger and frustration naked on his face. Eyes that could melt steel looked on to eyes of soft brown. Superman looked at the man; not someone who could lift a car over their head, or wield mystic energies, or even someone with a high-tech arsenal of weapons. Just a normal man.

Superman dropped his gaze, and let the tension out of his shoulders.

"I understand." He said finally. "I won't interfere."

Special Agent Davison blinked.

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it, and closed it again.

He looked at Superman for a long moment before deciding nothing more needed to be said. He turned then, and headed for an unmarked vehicle, blue lights flashing in the front and rear windows, barking orders as he went.

The team of agents followed.

Superman watched them all climb into vehicles and speed off in every direction. At last, he stood alone in the center of the street.

With a deep breath and a slight shudder, he began to rise into the air, a single thought racing through his mind: " _Looks like this_ isn't _a job for Superman._ "


	18. Chapter 18

The helicopter had arrived at the park within minutes. Special Agent Davison had climbed aboard, and was now flying through the air with a bird's eye view of Metropolis. But his attentions wasn't on the magnificent view of the city beneath him; rather on the laptop in his hands, a grid-like map on the screen, as well as the one hundred and nine dots that marked every school bus in the city.

As it happened, the Board of Education, in a joint venture with the Metropolis Department of Transportation, had recently had all of the school buses in the city outfitted with GPS navigation systems. The idea was to help establish better routes, ensure the students were picked up on time, arrived to school on time, got home from school at decent hours, and avoid traffic when possible; all while conserving fuel costs in the process. The GPS systems also acted as a form of tracking device, allowing the dispatch center to have and up to date location of any school bus, at any time.

It was seven twelve. Twenty-six minutes to the deadline. So far, fourteen school buses had been stop, evacuated and were now being searched. Those buses were marked in green on his screen, and the remaining buses were marked in red.

"This is unit thirty-eight." The call came over Davison's headphones. "We have bus number ten-eleven; McArthur Junior High. We're evacuating the bus now. I'll have a headcount in a second." The agent reported.

"Copy that!" Davison shouted over the roar of the helicopter engine. "Bomb-squad!? What's your twenty?" he called out.

"We're spread too thin." came the response. "We still haven't finished checking the first bus. I've broken my unit up into teams of two, but that's still only twelve teams. At this rate, we'll never get to all of them in time! It would sure help if we knew exactly what we were looking for."

"I sent the pieces we recovered from the ferry to your lab for analysis!" Davison shot back.

"Yeah, and none of us could make heads or tails of it!" was the response. "We couldn't tell if it came from an explosive, or a microwave oven!"

Davison cursed under his breath. "Just check every inch of those busses. If it looks like something that's not supposed to be there, let me know! Where are we on back-up?"

"We called in everyone we could. We got an extra eight people coming in, but they may not make it in time. Two, maybe three extra teams to cover the north end…"

"Sir." the pilot shouted.

"What!" Davison snapped.

"Three O'clock, sir."

He leaned forward and looked out the window to his right.

There, a little over a mile up in the sky, was Superman. He was about three hundred yards away from the small craft, hanging motionless in the air, his cape tossed behind him by the wind.

"What's he doing?" the pilot asked.

Davison narrowed his eyes and looked at the superhero floating in mid-air. "He's staying out of the way!" he answered.

Davison looked at the laptops screen. A small window with a timer was set in the upper left hand corner. It currently read "00:24:42".

"I don't care what it takes. Recruit civilians off the streets if you have to!" Davison ordered into his mic. "I want those kids safe and those buses secure!"

"Roger that!" the bomb squad supervisor returned. "I'll update you in-" He stopped abruptly.

"Bomb-squad?! Are you there?!" Davison shouted. Silence. "Bomb-squad! Respond!"

"Bloody hell!" was the response.

"What!" Davison asked, his voice near frantic. "What is it?!"

"The radio sir! It's all over the news!"

Davison turned to the pilot. "This thing got a radio?" he snapped.

"Yes sir!"

The pilot flipped a switch, and Davison earphones were filled with the last thing in the world he wanted to here at that moment.

"…my next lesson is harder… harder to teach; harder to understand. And for that, Metropolis, I am sorry. But you will all see that he cares not for you, this lion among lambs; but for his own glory and self-righteousness. He doesn't care who lives or who dies, so long as he is praised in the end."

"That short fat stupid sonava bitch!" Davison cursed.

"But the children… they will teach him. Those who sit on rooftops and look out of windows in hopes of catching a glimpse of blue and crimson wings in flight… those who tie towels around there necks and paint "S"'s on there tee's… the will teach him. For what teaches us more than that which is lost?

"There are currently one hundred and nine grade school, middle school, and high school busses in service in Metropolis…" the voice continued. "All one hundred and nine of them have been wired with explosives. One hundred and eight of them are decoys. The real explosive device is scheduled to explode at precisely 7:38 the morning of this transmission."

"While I have no doubt that the combined effort of the Metropolis Police Department, Fire Department, and perhaps even the FBI will have little trouble getting all the students to safety in time; I also have little doubt that Superman will intervene. But I warn you, Superman: Your involvement in this will be at the cost of bloodshed. The lives of the children are in your hands. Accept that you cannot save us. You can't even save yourself!"

"That was the latest threat against Metropolis and Superman…" the news-woman said, her voice more than a little shaky. "And based on yesterday's events, we can only hope and pray that the men and women of the Metropolis Police Department get to our children in time."

Davison couldn't see them, there, a mile in the sky over Metropolis. He couldn't hear them or feel them. But he knew. As sure as he knew anything in this world, he knew they were down there.

Hundreds. Thousands. Millions maybe.

Mothers. Fathers. Parents.

Grabbing purses. Slamming closed briefcases. Racing down stairs when the elevator proved too slow. Ripping cell phones from pockets and purses; flooding the emergency lines with thousands of calls. Jumping frantically into cars; fumbling with keys; cutting through traffic; slamming into other cars and not stopping. All in hopes that maybe, just maybe; they could get to their child in time.

And not a single one of them realizing that, in the end, the only thing they would do is make what was already a nightmare… a hundred times worse.

Davison closed his eyes for a brief moment and took a deep breath. He tried not to think about anything at all, save for the job at hand.

He opened his eyes and looked at the screen. A quick count told him the total number of buses stopped and evacuated was now close to thirty. The timer told him "00:20:18" remained.

The chatter that erupted from his headphones was like a bad cop movie.

"The 911 switchboard just lit up like a Christmas three. We got over a thousand calls holding!"

"I got reports of a hit and run in about eighteen different locations in the city. It's chaos out there."

"B.O.E. dispatch just got a report of a woman jumping onto the school bus, trying to get it to stop! They lost contact with fifteen drivers. All the rest are calling in and asking what the hells going on!"

Davison cleared his throat.

"Alright, everyone! Listen up!" he shouted into his mic. "The plan doesn't change! Have dispatch tag the buses we lost contact with a yellow marker. I want anyone that hasn't found a bus, or within two miles of one, to head towards the yellow marker closest to them! Get those kids off the bus! Period! I don't care what it takes! That's our top priority! That's our only priority! I don't care if every bus in the city blows up in nineteen minutes or not. We make sure theirs not a single child left on any of them! Is that clear?!"

"Roger!"

"Copy that!"

"Crystal, sir!"

"We're on it!"

Every unit sounded off.

"Sir?" someone asked. "What about the parents trying to stop the buses on their own?"

"You throw a pair of cuffs on them and toss them in the back of a patrol car! We'll deal with the litigation later. I'm sure they'd rather have a pair of sore wrist than make funeral arrangements for their kid!" he answered. "Again, the plan is simple, people: You see a school bus, you stop it, clear it, and set up a perimeter until the bomb squad shows, or the clock expires." He looked at the clock on the laptops screen. "Eighteen minutes, forty seconds, people! Clocks ticking!"

And a mile below him, an army of police officers, federal agents, and bomb-squad members continued their search.

Superman was only mildly aware of the tension in his fist. They had been tightly clinched ever since his confrontation with Special Agent Davison. Even now, floating a mile in the air over Metropolis, all he did was clinch them tighter.

He could see the streets beginning to fill with people. Frantic people. Scared people. Men and women. Fathers and mothers.

He heard the broadcast. Nearly every radio in Metropolis was tuned to Metro One; waiting to see if there would be another treat against the city… against Superman.

Their waiting had not been in vain.

But for many; the ones running frantically through the streets; the ones driving insanely down the roads; the ones crying hysterically on hold to "911"; it had been like listening to someone broadcast their greatest fears.

And Superman's as well.

He heard the sound of metal meeting metal at high speed. His telescopic vision quickly located the intersection where five, now six cars became locked together in twisted steel and carbon-fiber. X-ray vision showed no broken bones or serious injuries. He saw a woman crawl through the driver side window of the car that was the possible start of it all. Her head was a bleeding mess; her steps were shaky at best. She limped forward, determined to get to her destination; to get to her child.

Superman's heart went out to her, but he remained in the sky. Hers was one of a dozen accidents and growing. From his vantage point, and with his extraordinary powers, Superman could see it all. He could see all the school busses, all the police vehicles, all the federal agents, bomb-squad agents, and all the children. All of it.

He could even see the bombs on the buses

Special Agent Davison's warning notwithstanding, Superman instinctively scanned each and every bus. And each and every bus had a device on it; a small cylindrical shape, with metal caps and a series of wires running from either end to a small square circuit board placed in the center. It was hidden among the emergency equipment in the rear of each bus. Unfortunately, Superman admitted, explosives were more up Batman's proverbial ally, so he couldn't make out the decoys from the real thing.

Superman watched bomb-squad agents slowly crawl through the bus, checking under seats, combing through the engine, checking the tires, brake system, exhaust system, and electrical system.

Superman at that moment wished his abilities included telepathy. He thought of trying to contact J'onn, the Justice Leagues Martian telepath. He could easily tell the Martian Manhunter where the bombs were located and have him convey the information to the officers and agents below. He took a second to consider the possible ramifications of his actions, but realized that if the agents were too late in locating the bombs, than none of it would matter anyway.

He prepared to close his eyes and focus his thoughts in attempt to contact J'onn, but at the last moment, he noticed a bomb-squad agent open the emergency storage compartment and frantically raise his radio to his lips.


	19. Chapter 19

"Emergency compartment! Emergency compartment! The device is in the emergency compartment in the back of the buses!"

The shout in his headphones was the first piece of good news Special Agent Davison had all morning.

"Copy that!" he shouted, sitting up in his seat in the helicopter. "Take a picture of it with your Palm and send it to me ASAP!"

"Roger that!" came the excited response.

A moment later, Davison was looking at a small cylindrical device sitting among road flares, road cones, and a first aid kit.

"Attention all units!" he said clearly into his mic. "The device is in the rear emergency compartment! Uploading photo to your PDA's! Bomb-squad; check the devices and sound off when we have the real-thing! I want all the decoys checked off the list. Any bus with a decoy is to be left under armed guard and I want all other officers and agents to move on with the search! Fifteen minutes and counting, people!" he looked at the screen and quickly counted the remaining green dots. "Thirty-six buses to go! Let's move!"

All units sounded off in response.

"This is unit forty-six!" The shout came over his headphones. "You can call off the search!" he said excitedly. "We've located the real device. Repeat: We have located the real device! Bus twenty-eight thirty-four; corner of Lexington and Hill."

Agent Davison felt as if the weight of the world had just been lifted from his shoulders. "Unit forty-six!" he shouted back. "Verify! You've located the real device? Over!"

"Roger that!" they called back. "The device is filled with roughly three pounds of C-4 plastic explosive, remote trigger. I just need a few minutes to isolate the wiring and we can-"

"Negative!" someone else shouted, cutting in. "This is unit nineteen! We have confirmed: we have the real device! Repeat: WE have the real device! Nitroglycerin core, mercury switch; the trigger's a digital kitchen timer. I don't know what Forty-six is holding, but this baby's the real thing!"

"I'm not holding a flashlight full of Play-dough over here, Nineteen!" unit Forty-six shouted back.

"This stick is testing positive for explosive content! And I've seen enough boom-boom to know the real thing when I see it!"

"If you're holding C-4…" Unit Nineteen shot back. "I'll drink this nitro and light the fart, forty-six!"

"That's enough!" Davison shouted. "I don't care which of you has the real deal. It's possible he slipped us two real devices! Both of you get it together and get those devices secured or so help me I'll-"

"Agent Davison?!" someone else shouted.

"WHAT?!"

"This is unit Twenty-eight! We just opened the emergency compartment! We can confirm: we have a live device. Repeat: we have a live device here. Bus Twelve-twelve. Corner of Main and Metro. Some type of exotic blend; remote trigger."

"This is unit Five." Another shout came. "We got the same thing here! Bus fourteen-eleven. Corner of Truman and Fifth!"

"Unit Thirty-one here! Bus seven twenty-three. We're on the grass in Metropolis Square Park. We got a live stick of C-4 here as well; a timers on this one too."

"This is unit seven, nitro and mercury here; and it's hot!"

"Unit eighteen checking in! We got more of that exotic stuff! Readings are of the charts!"

"This is twelve! We got one too!"

Agent Davison closed his eyes and just listened to the calls as they poured in, the tension in his shoulders returning with a vengeance.


	20. Chapter 20

"So let me get this straight…" Agent Davison was rubbing his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. It felt like someone was trapped on the inside of his skull and using hand grenades to blast their way out. He let out a long sigh and looked at the laptop screen. There were only three red dots left. His teams had found, evacuated, and secured one hundred and six buses; and found one hundred and six live devices. The up-side was that all the busses had been safely evacuated. The downside was; for all intents and purposes, each bus had a live device.

The small counter in the upper corner of the laptop screen showed "00:06:37" remaining, but time was the enemy. And every second counted.

"You're telling me that every one of those busses is wired with a live explosive?!"

"Roger that!"

"Alright..." He breathed. "Stay focused! We got three buses to go and five minutes on the clock. I want a perimeter of seventy yards set up around every bus we've tagged so far. The threat said that only one was the real deal, and the rest were decoys, but I don't want to take any chances. When the clock hits zero, I don't want anyone hurt if all these things go bomb. Clear!"

"Clear, sir." All units call back.

"This is fifty-one!" a Unit called in.

"Go ahead, fifty-one."

"We just located another bus. Seven forty-five. St. Johns School for Boys. We're routing it to a parking lot two blocks down. We'll evac the kids there!"

"Roger that!" Agent Davison responded. "Get that bus and the device secured ASAP! And I want a head count of those kids!"

"Copy!" Unit fifty-one answered.

Two buses left.

"This is unit seventy-two!" The call came in. "We have bus thirty-eight fifty-one! Jefferson Elementary School. The bus driver has already pulled into a park and got all the kids off the bus. Bomb-squads en-route; ETA: two minutes."

"This is unit Ten!" the final call came.

"Ten!" Davison shouted, his voice holding more excitement than he would have liked. "Tell me you have the last bus!"

"Negative, sir!" the answer came. "We have the GPS coordinates, and according to dispatch, we should have tagged it by now, but all we've been doing is following around a '63 Chevy Impala for the last three minutes."

Davison cursed. "Check your readings, Ten!" He snapped. "Have dispatch double check their signal and re-route you…"

"We did that, sir. Twice." Unit Ten responded. "We've pulled the Impala over and searched it sir. We found the transmitter hidden among the hydraulics. It was hardwired into the electrical system."

Agent Davison let the information sink into his head. Then he covered the mic on his headset and let out a string of curses that left his mouth sore! When he was done, he cleared his throat and spoke very clearly.

"Attention all units! We have a rogue bus. Repeat: we have a rogue bus. Somewhere in Metropolis, there is a school bus, minus one tracking unit, filled with kids and a highly explosive device. I need anyone that's not helping with securing a bus, crowd control, or are disarming, to set up a grid—"

"Sir," Ten cut in.

"I-I want a grid set-up…" Davison continued, his voice a little more shaky than he intended. "A-a car on ever street… Run units north to south, and parallel units east to west…"

"Sir!" Ten cut in again.

"WHAT!" Davison snapped.

"Sir," Ten responded reluctantly. "Sir… there's no one left…"

Agent Davison's heart was beating like a jackhammer. His head was throbbing and his eyes were burning. He pulled the headphones from his head, the thunderous sound of the helicopter engines assaulting his ears with actual physical force.

He pushed the laptop to the floor of the small cabin interior and cursed again.

The laptop remained open and active, the single red dot on the screen mocking him. He looked out at the city below, and for the first time since he had climbing into the small aircraft, he took a moment to appreciate the landscape beneath him.

Metropolis, the city of Tomorrow! Five hundred square miles of the most innovative architecture, new age design, and unparalleled style.

And somewhere, amidst the towering skyscrapers, trendy high-rises, and rolling hills, there was a school bus full of kids with a bomb on it; a bomb that was going to explode in less than three minutes.

And there wasn't a damned thing Special Agent Davison could do to stop it.

00:02:53

Six days ago, Jessie Bradshaw celebrated his eleventh birthday. His gift: a brand new digital music player with a large touch screen display, and a one hundred dollar gift-card for downloading songs, videos, and games.

The first thing he did was download every song by his favorite band, the Flaming Love Monkeys. Then, he downloaded his favorite action movie, "Landaar and the Ice Sword of Doom." He and the device had become inseparable ever since. He listened while he did his homework, while he ate dinner, while he bathed, and had even fallen asleep with the earphones nestled snuggly in his ears more than once.

The only stipulation his parents had given him: Under no circumstances was he to take it to school.

As is was, Jessie was sitting next to the window on the school bus, listening to his fifth favorite song by the Flaming Love Monkeys: "Be careful! I have a hammer!" The earphones nestled snuggly in his ears, the combination of heavy bass and horns filling his ears, oblivious to the rest of the world; he had no idea why Jordan Winslow suddenly decided to sit neck to him.

He looked at her, half startled, half bedazzled.

Jordan was twelve years old and in the seventh grade. Her mom was Caucasian and her dad was African American; Jordan in turn had a skin complexion that Jessie would describe as "the color of 24kt gold". Her eyes were chestnut in tone, a contrast to her long curly raven hair. She had smooth skin and fully lips, currently held firmly in the "pout" position.

"Billy Turner is a butt-head!" she said matter-of-factly, her eyes full of fury.

Jessie just blinked at her; the ability to speak, or even think, lost to him. He could only stare at what he considered the most beautiful girl in all of Oakridge Middle School.

"And he smells like a bag of wet socks!" she added.

Jessie laughed slightly, but still didn't speak.

A long moment passed. Several long moments. Several long, silent moments.

In his head, Jessie was trying desperately to re-learn how to speak; but all he could manage was a smile that bordered on creepy and a series of rapid blinks.

Jordan looked at him, noticing the ear phones attached to his head. "Whatcha listening to?" she asked, turning to face him.

"T-t-the Flaming Love Monkeys…" Jessie heard the words as if someone else had spoken.

Jordan's face lit up. "I love the Flaming Love Monkeys!" she beamed. "There my ATF (all time favorite)! Me and my BFF (best friend forever), Hailey, tried to get tickets to their concert last year, but then Hailey broker her ankle doing a round-off back hand spring in gym class, so we couldn't go, so we downloaded the whole concert online and turned off all the lights in my bedroom and hung a mirror ball from my ceiling and then shined a flashlight at it, but covered the flashlight with a pink scarf, so the light would be pink, and it was just like we were at the concert!"

Again, Jessie just blinked.

"Can I listen with you?" Jordan asked. "The bus driver said something about the radio being broken and if I have to listen to Kelly Henderson say one more thing about her new hair bow, my brains going to explode!"

" _Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!_ " Jessie shouted over and over in his head.

He nodded in response, removed one ear bud from his ear, and handed it to her. To his great joy, the cord was too short to reach, forcing Jordan to scoot close to him, and place her head right next to his, to get it to her ear.

Jessie was in heaven.

00:02:06

"Dispatch!" Davison shouted. His headphones were back securely on his head and the laptop was back in his lap. "Compile a list of every bus in service today, cross-reference every bus we have tagged and you tell me which one is left!"

"That's going to take a few minutes." The dispatch operator replied.

"In a few minutes," Davison roared. "We're going to putting what's left of a school bus full of kids in a bucket! You got ten seconds!"

Ten seconds later, the operator was back on the line. "Bus seventy-four!" she shouted. "Oakridge Middle School. It's in the Oakridge sub-division!"

"Contact the driver!" Davison ordered. "Tell him to get that bus stopped and evacuated NOW!"

"We're trying, sir." The operator answered. "We're not getting any response. I think his radios out!"

Davison cursed, loudly. "Get me to that school now!" he shouted to the pilot.

The helicopter dipped, and then lurched forward, the landscape below sweeping by.

00:01:47

Jessie and Jordan were singing loudly and somewhat off key when the bus pulled in front of the school. Neither noticed the lack of other students that usually filled the quad around this time of morning. Neither noticed the absence of all the other school buses. Neither noticed the crowd of parents and teachers shouting at the bus driver and students alike to get off the bus. They just sat and sang and laughed as the other kids began to get off.

"Want me to carry your books?" Jessie asked, his own courage a shock to even him.

Jordan smiled at him and his heart melted. "Sure." She said. She took the ear-bud from her ear and snuggly replaced it in his. And with a smile and a toss of raven hair that smelled like cinnamon and honey, she stood up and headed for the exit.

Jessie was right on her heels. It was Jordan, Jessie, and the Flaming Love Monkeys, and as far as Jessie was concerned, this was the best day of his life.

00:01:08

The school was the size of a match box from the helicopters current height and distance. Davison could just make out the school bus as the aircraft drew closer. He could even begin to see the first of the students starting to emerge from the bus itself. He could just now make out the crowd of parents gathered in the quad, held at a safe distance by school security. He could even see the line of emergency vehicles, their lights flashing brightly as they sped towards the school.

And one look at the laptop screen, the minutes now reduced to zeros, the seconds ticking away, told him that none of them would make it in time.

00:00:36

Jessie, right behind Jordan, was the last one off the bus. He wasn't walking, so much as floating. The Flaming Love Monkeys had just started their ballad; "Love is a broken windshield", as he stepped onto the walkway, his eyes only for the vision of loveliness that walked in front of him. He didn't see, nor could he here, the dozens of adults screaming for him to run. He didn't see their gestures or frantic faces. All he could see was the long black hair of the prettiest girl in Oakridge Middle School.

The gentle breeze blew the scent of cinnamon and honey to his nose once more and he smiled. He couldn't believe his luck. Not only had Jordan Winslow sat next to him on the bus, not only did she share his love of the Flaming Love Monkeys, and not only had he spent nearly the entire bus ride head to head with her, listening, and then singing to, their favorite band together. Now, he was walking beside her… okay, slightly behind her, carrying her books! For all the school to see!

And it was at that moment that Jessie realized he left his backpack on the school bus, and turned around.

00:00:09

The world seemed to slow to a crawl; the way it does when something truly horrific is about to happen and all you can do is watch.

The roar of the helicopter engine turned into a slow constant "thump". Agent Davison couldn't tell if the sound was the spinning of the blades, or the pounding of his heart.

The birds that curiously passed the copter seemed to linger in his field of vision longer than they should. His mouth began to open; the sound of a scream of "No!" took far longer to build than seemed possible. The ground seemed reluctant to rise up to meet them as the aircraft lowered.

And through it all, a small boy carrying a small stack of books, turned around, and ran back onto the bus.

Had Agent Davison been looking at it, he would have seen the laptops counter final clicks before it came to a rest at 00:00:00.

What he did see, however, was all the more terrible.

Two things happened at once: A blur of crimson and blue streaked past the helicopter, nearly faster than the eye could see, and punched into the roof of the bus with the speed and force of a missile.

And less than a fraction of a second later, it exploded!


	21. Chapter 21

Flames shot seventy feet into the sky. The concussion wave knocked everyone standing in the quad to their feet. Jordan Winslow, the closets to the bus, was lifted into the air and propelled forward a dozen feet. The helicopter flying six hundred feet overhead was tossed to one side. Agent Davison had to brace himself against a window as the pilot corrected the craft. Fiery debris rained over the quad. The air was suddenly hot and thick with smoke.

Where a moment before there was a bright yellow school bus, there was now a collage of twisted burning metal, smoking rubber, and shattered glass.

For a long moment, only the flames and smoked moved.

A woman screamed. Many students began to cry; including many boys. Parents and faculty members pulled themselves from the grass and debris.

High above, in the helicopters interior, Agent Davison sat motionless. His eyes tried to taken every detail of the horrific image below, but his brain refused to process it all.

The smoke was rising to meet him, and the helicopter pilot swung the craft around as to avoid it.

"I… I… I need… I need…" It took him a few moments to realize the voice he was hearing was his own. He wiped the tears from his eyes and cleared his throat. "I need emergency vehicles to Oakridge Middle School." He said softly. "There has been an explosion. I repeat: a school bus has just exploded at Oakridge Middle School!" Some of the authority and vigor began to seep back into his voice as he went on. "I need emergency vehicles on the scene now! Fire and Paramedics required. All available units respond!"

He covered the mic on his headset. "Get me on the ground!" he shouted to the pilot. The helicopter continued its' decent. Davison continued to shout orders and directions into his headset as the ground came up to meet them.

"Sir?" the pilot interrupted.

Davison looked at him. The pilot pointed towards the burning wreckage. And Agent Davison saw it.

The silhouette was unmistakable, even among the flames and smoke. The six-foot four inch frame rose from the ashes like a bird of fable. It continued to rise until it hovered above the flames, and Superman began to float forward, his cape, normally flowing behind him in regal glory, was absent from his back; wrapped instead around the still form he carried in his arms.

All eyes were on him as he gentle touched down in the quad and immediately went to a knee, laying the body in his arms on the grass, pulling his cape from the small boys face and torso.

Jessie looked up at Superman and coughed.

"I think I broke my IPod…" he said, his voice dry and raspy.

"We'll have to get you another one." Superman said with a smile.

Everyone within earshot went wild with excitement, cheers, and praise.

"This boy needs medical attention." Superman said. A crew of paramedics, who had just arrived on the scene, rushed to his side then, rolling a gurney onto the lawn.

"Jordan…" Jessie said; his voice still weak.

"Who?" Superman asked, leaning forward.

"The girl with the long black hair…"

Superman looked up and saw the small girl sitting on the grass a few yards away.

"Did she see?" Jessie asked.

Superman smiled at him again. "She saw." He said softly. "She's crying… but she's smiling. I think she likes you." He added.

"Awesome…" Jessie whispered and then coughed hard.

"These people are going to take a look at you know…"

"Jessie…" the boys coughed again.

"Jessie." Superman repeated. "I'll be right over here if you need anything." He offered.

"Cool." Jessie smiled.

Superman backed away, and the team of paramedics went to work.

At that moment, roughly fifty yards away in the middle of the street, a helicopter landed. Superman watched as Agent Davison stepped out, and quickly walked towards him.

The agent didn't say a word as he walked past him towards the group of paramedics and the small boy. Superman tried not to eaves drop, but couldn't help to hear the concern, and relief, in the agents' voice as the paramedics gave him the news. He tried not to listen as they told the young boy how lucky he was, asked him what in the world made him run back onto the bus, then asked what a Flaming Love Monkey was. He tried not to pay attention as Davison barked orders to the agents and officers as they arrived on the scene. And he tried not to seem anxious as the agent made his way back over towards him.

Agent Davison was looking at the still burning wreckage when he drew even with the Man of Steel.

"The paramedics say the boy is going be fine; a few scraps and a mild concussion. They're going to take him in and run some test just to be sure."

"I heard." Superman admitted.

Davison glanced at him for a moment, and then turned back towards the wreckage.

"I asked you… scratch that; I told you to stay out of this!" He chided. Superman didn't respond. "I know you're 'only trying to help'; hell, you're always 'only trying to help'…" Davison continued. "But this nut job, whoever he is, just blew up a school bus for God's sake! Because you're "always trying to help"! Yeah, you saved the kids life. I don't know how, but that kid just got to see a bus explode from the inside and live to tell about it, and he has you to think for it. But I can't help but wonder how many other buses maybe blowing up as we speak,"

"None." Superman answered.

Davison looked at him again and raised an eyebrow. "Super-hearing?"

"That," Superman explained. "And the fact that when I flew into this bus, I had a chance to see the device. It was a small square, with two small lead cubes on either end; lots of wires, and something that looked like a 9-volt battery. And some type of transmitter."

"It could have sent a signal before it blew." Agent Davison remarked.

Superman looked at him for a moment, then back off into the distance. "Batman tells me that I need to look at the big picture more." He began. "That I look at every problem in terms of 'save' or 'smash'. He says I never look at the details…"

"Your point?" Agent Davison asked.

Superman let out a heavy breath. "This bus was meant to explode, Agent Davison." He said plainly. "There was nothing you could have done to prevent it from happening. You had the city covered with agents and police. You had the Board of Education dispatch help you with identifying and locating all the buses. And the one that explodes turns out to be the bus with the GPS systems removed and the radio disabled."

"The only one that could have stopped it was you." Agent Davison admitted.

"But I didn't." Superman stated.

"Could you have?"

Superman took a deep breath. "Yes."

Agent Davison looked away then as well. "Why didn't you?"

"Well…" Superman began. "For starters, you asked me, scratch that, you ordered me not to." he mocked. Davison gave him a dirty look. "And secondly…" he went on. "I thought about what happened with the tram."

"What about it?"

"The ferry didn't explode until after I stopped the tram from falling in the bay."

The light lit up over Davison's head. "And since you were the only one that could have stopped the bus from blowing, if you had stopped it, that may have triggered all the other buses."

"Right." Superman replied. "I was watching from the sky and was fairly certain the bus would be clear when it blew, but then the boy, Jessie, ran back onto it, and I had to act."

Davison glanced over his shoulder towards the ambulance. "That boy owes you his life." He said plainly.

Superman didn't respond, the thought of the ferry victims heavy on his heart and mind.

"Thanks for not listening to me." Agent Davison added.

"My pleasure." Superman mused.

Agent Davison was silent for a long moment. "We gotta catch this guy." He sighed finally.

"Yes. We do." Superman agreed.

Agent Davison looked back to the fire. While they spoke, fire crews arrived on the scene and started seeing to the blaze. "You gonna help them with that?" he asked.

Superman seemed to consider it for a moment. "You think that's a good idea?" he asked.

"The bus already exploded." Davison admitted. "If the transmitter was destroyed I doubt anything else is going to blow."

Superman seemed to consider it for a moment. He took a deep breath, and blew in the direction of the bus. His breath flowed from his mouth like a gale force blast of ice and wind. The flames of the wreckage retreated with earnest. In seconds, the fire was out and the wreckage was covered by thin sheen of ice.

Davison looked from the wreckage to Superman and back again, and then shrugged.

Superman smiled, nodded slightly, and then headed over towards the ambulance.

Jessie was laying in the back of an ambulance with an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. The paramedics had explained to him the he was going to go to the hospital and run some tests. They had called his mom on a cell phone and he had listened to her cry hysterically and thank God repeatedly. She said she was going to meet him at the hospital and told him she loved him more times than he could count.

Now, he watched Superman walk towards the back of the ambulance.

"How you feeling?" he asked.

"Good." Jessie answered; his throat still sore and dry. "They said I'm going to be alright. But I have to go to the hospital. My mom is going to meet me there."

"That's good." Superman smiled and ran his fingers through the small boy's hair. "Just try to be a little less forgetful from now on and I'm sure you'll be fine."

Superman turned to leave then, but Jessie called out to him. "Don't forget your cape!" said as loud as he could manage, pointing towards a ball of crimson lying on the bench beside him.

Superman pulled the soft red fabric to his chest, balled it up slightly, and then handed it back to Jessie. "Hold on to it for me." He said.

Jessie smiled widely beneath his oxygen mask.

Superman turned again, rose into the sky, and flew away.

In his place was a beaming young Jordan, her eyes slightly red from tears.

"I'm happy you're alright." She said. "That was really cool that Superman saved you and everything. I'm going to ask my mom if she can take me to the hospital to visit you later. And if you come to school tomorrow, I we can sit together on the bus again. Well, actually, I don't think my mom is going to let me ride the bus for a while, so maybe we can sit together during lunch or something. I'll ask my mom to make some brownies for you. Okay. Bye." And with that, she disappeared into the crowd of students and parents.

Jessie leaned back on the gurney.

Today, he sat and listened to the Flaming Monkeys with Jordan Winslow, carried her books, had been blown up, saved by Superman, who give him his cape, and had a lunch date with Jordan when he came back to school.

" _Definitely the best day ever!"_ He thought to himself.


	22. Chapter 22

Night had come to the Stangin Research facility. On the surface, a blizzard was in full force. Gale force winds blew across the frozen tundra. Snow and hale the size of softballs battered the exterior of the motor-pool. The temperature had dropped to more than forty below.

Three hundred feet below the surface, there was a completely different tale.

Most of the inhabitants where fast asleep, the lights had almost all been turned off, most of the automated systems had been set to stand-by; the ambient noises down to a minimum.

Jeremiah wandered the halls alone.

He made his way down the long hall with the slight downgrade. He turned left, then right, and approached the large steel-double doors that led to the labs. He cautiously eyed the green lit DNA reader.

He knew it wasn't going to work, but pressed his palm against it anyway. There was a burst of green light, followed by the beeps.

"Good evening, Jeremiah." Alisa said. "Lab access granted."

Jeremiah stood astonished as the sound of metal on metal could be heard and the doors began to slide apart. Jeremiah swallowed hard and made his way into the lab. He took, slow, cautious steps towards the black column with the amber LED lights. He looked at it, as if not entirely seeing it. We watched the amber lights pulse rhythmically.

"Lisa…" he whispered.

And as before, the amber lights reformed into the shape of a woman; a woman with beautiful green eyes, full lips, long flowing hair. This time, however, the hair was lose and cascaded around her upper body.

"Hello, Jeremiah." Alisa said softly.

Jeremiahs heart was pounding and he was having a hard time remembering how to breathe. His eyes suddenly felt as if they were on fire and the first tears began to form and fall down his cheeks. He took a slow step forward, his hand reaching out towards the image seemingly on its own. He touched the smooth surface of the black column, his hand tracing the lights that made up Alisa's cheek and lips.

"Lisa…" he sobbed. "Oh God. I miss you so much…" he cried.

He was on his knees a moment later, tears flowing freely from his eyes, his body shaking with sobs.

"Do you require assistance, Jeremiah?" Alisa asked.

He didn't answer. He just cried.

He wasn't sure how much time had passes before the gentle hand touched his shoulder. And for the briefest moment, he allowed himself to believe that his silent prayers had been answered.

"Lisa?" he whispered as he looked up with bloodshot eyes.

But instead of his wife standing over him, Dr. Peter Stangin looked down at him, his own eyes red and teary.

"It's alright, Jeremiah." Stangin whispered. "It's alright."

Jeremiah looked up at him, his eyes full of pain. Stangin knelt beside him and draped his arm his shoulders.

They both knelt and looked up at the vision before them; a collection of blinking LEDS all perfectly synced into an image of Lisa Ann Kuttler, Jeremiahs now dead wife.

Jeremiah was sitting on the floor in the lowest level of the labs. The transparent window in front of him was still open to show the steady red glow from the reactor beyond. He was holding a mug filled with coffee; taking slow steady sips. Dr. Stangin was sitting beside him. Neither spoke. The only sound in the room was the steady hum and pulse of the reactor.

He looked at the swirling energy contained just a few dozen yards in front of him. Energy that had the power to change the world and everyone in it. Energy with the power to change his world.

"Does she know?" he said almost absentmindedly.

"Does who know what?" Stangin replied.

"Natasha. Does she know about Lisa…? Alisa."

Stangin smiled to himself. "No. However she did once ask me who she was modeled after. I told her it was one the actresses from television."

Jeremiah allowed himself a small smile. He took another sip of his coffee and continued to stare into the red pulsing mass.

"Why?" he asked finally.

Stangin took in a deep breathe and let it out slowly. "Because I loved her as well." He admitted.

Jeremiah looked at him. Stangin returned his gaze. Both could see the raw emotion in the eyes of the other. Stangin offered a weak smile and turned away.

"You remember how we were back when we were in school?" Stangin began. "The only thing that mattered to us was the math; the equations and the theories. Solving the mysteries! Finding the solutions! Answering one question and unlocking the door to a dozen others. That was the only thing we lived for."

He took a long sip of his own cup of coffee before continuing. "And then we met Lisa."

"I remember the first time we saw her…" Jeremiah entered. "She came into the math lab, wearing those brown overalls she loved, covered in paint, but carrying herself as if she was wearing a formal night gown. God she was so beautiful…" he whispered.

"She needed a math tutor." Stangin went on.

"She needed a math miracle, with her grades." Jeremiah joked.

"'I don't understand why I need to take physics anyway!' she said. 'I'm an art history major. When will I need to know the square root of PI?'" Stangin mimicked. "I tried my best to explain to her that math helps us to better understand the universe…"

"And art helps us to connect with it…" Jeremiah breathed.

Stangin glanced at him. "Yes… that's what she'd always say."

The two men sat in silence for a long moment then.

"You know I never meant for anything to happen, Peter. Lisa and I… We just..."

"You were better for her than I was." Stangin admitted, interrupting. "I could never see past the math. The equations always came first. She deserved better than that. You gave her what I couldn't. You put her first."

Silence again; long and thick with unspoken words.

"Why did you do it?" Jeremiah asked finally. "Alisa, I mean."

Stangin smiled at him. "Isn't it obvious?"

Jeremiah only looked at him.

Stangin laughed softly. "For you, old friend. I did it for you."

Jeremiah just looked at him, not knowing what to say.

Stangin stood and dusted himself off absently. "We don't get much news here. The research we do generates an electromagnetic field. That, and the severe storms, makes connecting with the outside world a bit difficult at times. In fact, there are only a few months out of the year that we can get a clear signal to our satellite system. It was during that time, last year, when I heard of Lisa's tragic accident. I tried to contact you, but I realized that in your state of mourning, you most likely wouldn't want to talk to anyone, let alone me.

"We were working on Alisa then; early stages of A.I. development; playing chess, solving random theoretical scenarios, answering questions of morality, and testing her reasoning skills. One afternoon, when we went to back up her operating system, we found a file that wasn't there before, and no one on my staff was aware of. It was a picture. A piece of art, actually; the landscape painting hanging in the entryway. It was beautiful…"

"When I asked her why she had created it, she answered simply: 'I just wanted to express myself.' That's when I realized two things: Alisa was a fully functional artificial intelligence, and I was going to imprint her with as much of Lisa as possible… visually that is."

"She's amazing." Jeremiah said softly, eyeing the black column.

"Once she was completed, I knew it was just a matter of time before I got you out here." Stangin admitted. "When I contacted LexCorp about this demonstration, I requested he send his best and brightest Nuclear Physicist. I wasn't disappointed when you showed up."

"But how'd you get my DNA for the door?" Jeremiah asked.

Stangin smiled brightly. "Remember freshman year? We had to build a scale model of our own DNA double-helix. But we had to get our DNA scanned first…"

"You kept the files from way back then?"

"I kept everything from our college years." Stangin crossed the room, beaming down at him. He knelt down and placed a hand on Jeremiahs shoulder. "I meant everything I said before." He began. "The work we are doing here is just as much mine as it is yours. I want you to be a full partner; and I want you to enjoy all the benefits that come with it, Jeremiah."

"That's a generous offer, Peter."

"It's not an offer. It's an old friend making amends for sins of the past."

Jeremiah was quiet then. He pushed himself to his feet, looked Peter Stangin in his eyes, then wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tight.

"Thank you." He whispered. "Thank you so much. You don't know what this means to me."

"Just don't hog all the interviews and we'll be even, my friend." Stangin whispered back.

With a pat on the back, Jeremiah pulled away, a smile on his face.

He looked over at the reactor.

"Well…" he began. "If were going to be partners, you better explain to me how all this works."

Stangin smiled back. "Of course. What do you want to know?"

"The energy…" Jeremiah began. "Based on the readouts we saw earlier, you set a new president for energy output! What kind of storage unit did you devise to handle it all?"

Stangin looked like a kid at Christmas. "You know…" he began. "That did give us quite a headache in the initial stages of development. It was actually Natasha that developed a reverse fusion battery for containment, storage and transfer!" He went to the transparent wall and pressed the small amber light floating before it. The Virtual-console flashed to life. He quickly pressed a series of buttons and the transparent screen changed into a virtual display screen. After another series of button presses, the screen changed to show six large colored cylinders, each marked and numbered, with capacity levels listed beside them.

"Reverse fusion?" Jeremiah asked. "Of course! Change the plasma inside the Tokomak into a condensed gas using reverse fusion and store it in an inert state."

"Exactly!" Stangin smiled. "The inert gas reduces the plasmas mass by more than eighty percent. It's safe and stable, and using a simple re-igniting technique, we are able to transmute the gas back into fusion and siphon the energy, with zero loss in output."

"Brilliant!" Jeremiah added. He looked over the screens and read the displays carefully. "What about the kryptonite?" Jeremiah noted. "Where did you get so much? I imagine you don't have and endless supply…"

"Too true" Stangin sighed. He pressed another series of keys and in the far corner of the room, a large panel slid open. A series of shelves slid into few, each holding a small collection of three foot by two inch rods; each glowing bright green. All made of kryptonite, just under tow dozen rods in all.

"This is the last of our supply," Stangin began. "But even this small cache is enough to power the entire world for the next five hundred years. We can divide it between the nations of the world, and hope we find more in the next few centuries." He joked.

"Are they stable?" Jeremiah asked.

"Perfectly." Stangin answered. He walked over to the shelves and grabbed one of the rods in his bare hands. "Although the rods do contain some latent radiation due to solar exposure, the levels are low enough that they cause no real treat or danger to normal humans. I believe only Superman is…"

Stangins'' eyes went wide with shock. The needle plunging into his neck was accompanied with a sudden pain. The chemical inside it immediately flowed into his body and a second later, Stangin found himself unable to feel anything. The room around him seemed to fall away, even as his mind tried to tell him he was falling to the floor.

He was laid to his back gently, his head turning slightly to the side; his eyes stared up at the transparent floors and the rooms above him. Jeremiahs face came into view. His mouth was moving, but the words seemed distant and hard to comprehend.

"I'm sorry." Jeremiah said softly, the syringe his hands. "I really am. You've done some truly amazing work here, Peter. I have no doubt that you would have changed the world. I could see a cold fusion reactor in nearly every country in the world. In a few years, you could have solved the energy crisis. In a few decades, maybe world hunger would have been eradicated. And how long would it take before peace followed?

"But the world doesn't have a few years. There is a treat that is greater than all those combined. A treat that must be dealt with immediately. And you Peter… you and your work here. It was the key; the key to saving the world. This is a brand new day for mankind."

Jeremiah smiled at him weakly, and then disappeared from view.

Stangin lay paralyzed on the floor of his lab. He couldn't move or speak. His arms and legs felt as if they weighed a ton apiece. His mouth felt like cookie dough, his tongue felt as if it had suddenly disappeared. His vision was beginning to blur slightly at the edges, as if he was seeing the world through a telescope. He could still hear, but the sounds floating to his ears seemed as if he was hearing them while underwater. He was completely helpless.

"Alisa." He heard faintly.

"Yes, Jeremiah." She responded.

"Disengage safety protocols in storage units one thru four."

"Safety protocols disengaged." Alisa said a moment later.

"Initiate plasma transfer to storage unit one."

"Warning." Alisa stated. "Reverse fusion process has not been initiated. Insufficient space available in storage unit one for plasma transfers. Calculating overflow to next available unit."

"Negative, Alisa." Jeremiah shouted. "Transfer all plasma into storage unit one and unit one only!"

"Unable to comply." Alisa stated. "Insufficient space available."

Stangin heard Jeremiah curse, followed by a series of beeps from the virtual console.

"Alisa, recalculate available space in storage unit one."

"One moment." Alisa responded. "Capacity in storage unit one has increased by three hundred percent."

"Initiate plasma transfer to storage unit one." Jeremiah ordered.

"Transfer initiated." Alias replied.

"Time to transfer is complete?" he asked.

"Estimated time to transfer completion is forty seven minutes and thirty two seconds." She answered.

Peter Stangin watched Jeremiah enter the edge of his field of vision. He was standing in front of the cache of kryptonite rods. He watched him carefully remove one rod and hold it before him, examining it carefully. After a moment, he turned and looked down at him.

Jeremiah slowly walked towards him, his features illuminated eerily by the green glow of the rod. He knelt down once more.

"I truly am sorry." He said softly. "But for the sake of the world… for the sake of mankind… this has to be done. Jeremiah patted Stangin's chest softly. "Goodbye, old friend."

Dr. Peter Stangin watched Jeremiah first disappear from his field of vision, only to reappear a level above him. He watched him, kryptonite rod in hand; make his way across the lab, only pausing long enough to regard the black column of amber light. He watched him run his hand over its smooth surface, and then disappear into the long corridor leading to the left of the facility.

He couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't cry out for help, couldn't command Alisa to stop the fusion transfer. As the tears began to fall from the corners of his eyes, Peter Stangin realized that in less than forty-seven minutes, he, and everyone inside the Stangin Research Facility, were going to die.


	23. Chapter 23

" _Hurry up, slow poke!" the blonde man shouted from a few dozen yards ahead._

 _"Bite me!" Lois shouted back._

 _She was running through Metropolis Square Park, named for the fact it was exactly one square mile. The jogging trail and bike path ran diagonally through the park, from the northeast corner to the southwest end. The curves and turns made it a little under a mile and a half from start to finish. Lois was roughly three hundred yards from the finish._

 _She placed her fingers to her neck and felt her pulse while checking the seconds on her wristwatch. Her pulse rate was elevated, but steady; her breathing controlled, and her pace was smooth. She was wearing a light blue sports top, dark blue jogging shorts, and blue and white running shoes. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, now a little loose from the jog, and a fine sheen of sweat covered her exposed areas of skin._

 _The sky was filled with fluffy white clouds, with patches of blue sky and bright sun. The breeze was soft but consistent. It was a great day for a jog. The jogging path was lined with small trees and bushes, the leaves and flowers bright and full of color._

 _"Lois!" the blonde man shouted. "Hurry up for God's sake."_

 _The company, on the other hand…_

 _Lois drew even with him a few moments later. She gave him an evil look as she shook out her legs and paced back and forth, cooling down._

 _The man smiled at her and handed her a cold bottle of water._

 _She snatched it from him, unscrewed the cap and took short quick sips._

 _"Must you always be such an ass?" she asked with a smile._

 _"Speaking of which…" he laughed. "Isn't that where you told Bruce to stick his utility belt?"_

 _Lois laughed hard. She looked at her jogging buddy; his short blonde hair a perfect complement to his bright green eyes. He was wearing his almost ever present smile, one that reminded Lois of the kid that just flushed the firecracker down the toilet. His name was Wally West, the Flash to some, and he was the fastest man alive._

 _And Lois considered him a friend._

 _They made their way to a strategically positioned hot dog stand. Lois got an apple. Wally ordered twelve all-beef foot longs and four sodas. Diet sodas! Lois looked at him in both shock and amusement._

 _"What?" he said with a smile._

 _"Seriously?" she mused._

 _He pulled her towards a park bench, his massive fest in arm, and sat her down beside him. "You know my metabolism is fifty times faster than a normal person. I have to eat like this to stay energized."_

 _"And the diet sodas?" she poked._

 _Wally shrugged. "The sugar goes right to my hips." He grinned._

 _Lois just shook her head. They began to eat, Lois taking small measured bites of her hotdog, Wally stuffing whole hotdogs, buns and all, into his mouth, chewing them rapidly, swallowing quickly, then repeating the process._

 _Lois was both disgusted and amused by the sight._

 _A few moments passed as they sat and ate and enjoyed the picturesque day. Across the lawn, a group of kids tossed around a football. A few yards away, a couple enjoyed a picnic. Men and women on bikes, rollerblades and skates swooped past them. Half a dozen kites soared through the sky; one large and full of bright colors and doing amazing tricks. More than a few couples walked past them pushing strollers or carrying babies in their arms. Lois took it all in._

 _"What's it like?" she asked finally._

 _"What's what like?" Wally replied, half a hotdog still in his mouth, a smear of mustard on his cheek._

 _"When you run," Lois continued. "What's it like?"_

 _Wally swallowed hard, took a long swig of his diet cola, and regarded her carefully._

 _"Is this an interview now, Ms. Lane?" he asked with a half smile._

 _"Off the record." Lois answered. "Scouts honor!" she said, the traditional Boys Scouts three-fingered salute raised._

 _Wally laughed, and then looked out at the sea of life and humanity surrounding them._

 _"You ever ask Superma… I mean Clark that question?" he asked._

 _"I have."_

 _"And what did he say?"_

 _"He said that you are faster than he is." She said bluntly._

 _Wally looked at her. "Really?" he beamed._

 _"Fastest man alive, Wally." She grinned. "That includes my husband."_

 _Wally's smile widened a little. He was quiet for a moment, then he leaned a little closer to her._

 _"At first," he began. "It's loud. Really loud! All the wind rushing past your ears. I used to consider wearing earplugs." He grinned. "It doesn't really feel like I'm moving that fast, but like the rest of the world has suddenly slowed down; like everyone else is moving in slow motion. It's like one of those science programs where they show the water balloon bursting over the guys head at like a hundred frames per second or something like that. I feel like I'm moving exactly the same way I am now, but everything else is just creeping along."_

 _Lois regarded him carefully as he spoke._

 _"When you break the sound barrier," he continued. "It's quiet. Dead quiet. Like you went deaf. But then you start moving through all these waves of sound; everything from a cars engine, to a woman's scream, to a bird chirping. But you're only getting a piece of it, then nothing, then another piece of sound, and then nothing again. The best way to describe it is like listening to someone play the piano, but they are just hitting keys at random and only one key every other second or so. They're not making music, just random noise. Silence… noise… silence… noise. It's both peaceful, and nerve racking at the same time."_

 _"And when I go really fast, like twenty times the speed of sound or more…"_

 _Lois whistled._

 _"Yeah…" Wally went on. "It's like the world just stops. Everything! It all just stops moving. The world suddenly becomes a huge wax museum full of frozen statues; kids in mid jump, birds in mid-flight, people in mid-step; they all just freeze. There's no wind. No sound. No smells. I can't even really feel anything either. It's like my entire body has gone numb to the world. I'm moving faster than the time it takes for my brain to register the sensations of what I'm touching." His eyes drifted out to the field of playing children. One of them tossed the football into the air. "Look." Wally pointed towards it. Lois followed his gesture._

 _"In the time it takes for that ball to get to the other kid, I could have written my name on it a dozen times." he explained._

 _"And pretty much leave the kid wondering how he ended up with 'Wally's' ball…" Lois joked._

 _Wally smiled for a moment, but then his features turned serious. "When I'm going that fast, that's when I have to be the most careful."_

 _"Why?" Lois asked._

 _Wally looked at her. "Imagine driving a ten ton tank through a forest… at two-hundred miles per hour."_

 _"Yeah?" Lois replied, an eyebrow raised._

 _"Lois… When I move that fast, I'm the tank! Everyone and every thing around me is the forest."_

 _"Ouch." Lois said finally, understanding reaching her eyes._

 _"Yeah." Wally said solemnly._

 _They sat in silence for a moment, looking out at the people in the park._

 _"Have you ever traveled faster than the speed of light?" she asked after a moment._

 _"Only a few times."_

 _"What's that like?"_

 _Wally smiled widely at her. "Dark."_

 _She punched his shoulder lightly._

 _They laughed together for a moment._

 _"You know what I do sometimes?" he said softly, leaning close to her._

 _Lois raised her eyebrow in response._

 _"Sometimes, when I'm alone with Iris, or the twins, I vibrate my molecules really fast, you know; slow everything down."_

 _"Why?"_

 _Again, his eyes drifted out over the park. "They're just so beautiful." he said softly. "So perfect. I spend so much time running from one fight to another; traveling around the world, through space, even time, When I'm with them, I just want to make those moments last for as long as possible."_

 _Lois lane looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. "Wally West!" she beamed. "I never realized you were such a romantic."_

 _"Guilty as charged." He smiled. "Although, if it makes you feel better; I also do it when Iris is in the shower!"_

 _Lois frowned. "Another tender moment spoiled by Wally West."_

 _"It's really cool though!" he went on._

 _"That's enough Wally."_

 _"The water, it just kinda hangs in the air; it glistens all over her naked skin…"_

 _"Way too much info there, buddy."_

 _"And when it hits her body, I just glides over her-"_

 _"I'm going to jog back to my car now." Lois said standing up._

 _"It's like watching Baywatch." he pressed on. "The unrated version! At a hundred frames per second! But much hotter! 'Cause, you know; she's my wife! And she's really hot!"_

 _"Thank you, Wally. You have officially ruined the shower for me." Lois began to jog back up the path._

 _"What?" Wally smiled, jogging after her. "I'm sure Clark does the same thing."_

 _"Oh God!" Lois shouted._

 _"I mean, I would…"_

 _"WALLY! SHUT UP!"_

 _They jogged all the way back to the northeast corner of the park. Wally laughed the entire way._


	24. Chapter 24

Lois awoke to someone shaking her and the sound of her name being called softly.

"Lois! Lois, wake up!"

Lois slowly rolled to her back and half opened one eye. "If the worlds not about to end, someone dies!" Lois said; her voice harsh and heavy with sleep.

"It's an emergency!"

Lois opened both eyes wide, blinking out the sleep. She looked up at the man standing over her. Jeremiahs face was serious and full of concern.

"What is it?" Lois asked sitting up on her elbows. "What's happening?"

"In the labs…" Jeremiah began, his voice hushed. "Dr. Stangin… Peter… something's wrong. I need your help."

Lois was on her feet and pulling on her jeans before the rest of her body was truly awake. "What's wrong with Dr. Stangin?" she asked.

Jeremiah shushed her and glanced down at her still sleeping roommate. "Get dressed." He answered; his voice hushed and urgent. "I'll tell you everything on the way. Bring your coat." He ordered. And without another word, he disappeared out the door.

Lois's head was spinning. She frantically threw on her shirt, quickly pulled on her boots, tied her hair back in a loose ponytail and grabbed her goose down overcoat.

"Off to get another 'exclusive'?" her roommate said, her back to Lois, her head against the pillow.

"Bitter. Party of one!" Lois mocked. "Oh… I think your tables ready." And with that, Lois left the room.

"Slut." the older woman muttered as she went back to sleep.

Outside, Jeremiah was pacing frantically and looking at his watch. He was wearing his own heavy overcoat and carrying a long, black, cylindrical case. It resembled something you'd carry a two piece pool stick in. As Lois approached, he rushed over and grabbed her by the arm, and then began walking quickly down the hall, almost dragging her behind him.

"Jeremiah?" Lois asked, trying to keep pace. "What the hells going on?"

"There's no time." He answered. "We have to get up to the motor-pool…"

Lois snatched her arm away. "What!? Why?! It's fifty below up there! Where's Dr. Stangin?"

"He's waiting for us." Jeremiah said, reaching for her. "Lois, please. We have to hurry."

All types of alarms and buzzers were going off in Lois' head. Even through the haze of sleep, jet lag, and early morning hours, her instincts were telling her something was terribly wrong. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me just what the hell is going on, Jeremiah!" Lois said fiercely, bringing herself to her full height.

"He screwed up, Lois!" Jeremiah said; his heart pounding.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"He made a miscalculation. His math was off. The reactors not stable! It can't hold the amount of energy it's producing. We have less than an hour…"

"Until what?" Lois asked; her voice near panic.

"It's going to blow, Lois." Jeremiah said plainly, his eyes full of truth and urgency.

"But… but he said it was stable." Lois stammered, her mind trying to wrap itself around what was happening. "He said there was no radiation. He said that it was stable!"

Jeremiah was suddenly in front of Lois, his arms on her shoulders. He was crouched so they were eye to eye.

"Lois…" he began, his voice solid and even. "In less then forty minutes, the reactors storage units are going to overload. The explosion will cause a chain reaction that is going to ignite the reactor core. The explosion will be almost ten times that of Hiroshima! It won't be a traditional nuclear explosion, but this facility, everything in it, and everything within fifty miles will be destroyed. If we don't leave now, we won't make it. Do you understand?"

Lois was shaking. Her heart was beating so fast, she thought it was going to burst out of her chest. Her mind was moving furiously through the events of the last few days. Her exclusive interview with Stangin was playing over and over in her mind. He had seemed so sure of his equations, so sure of his math. He was so confident. Could he have been so wrong? Could his math have been so flawed that dozens of people were now going to pay for it with their lives?

"Lois!" Jeremiah shook her.

Lois blinked.

"We have to leave. Peter and his staff are waiting for us in the motor-pool. The helicopter is waiting…"

"What about everyone else?" Lois heard herself ask.

"What?" Jeremiah blinked. "There's… There's not enough time to save everyone, Lois."

Lois shook her head. "We… we can't just leave these people to die…" she said softly.

"Lois… there's not other way. There's no time! The helicopter can't hold them all!"

"Bullshit!" Lois said in a near shout. Jeremiah pulled away slightly. "We're not leaving these people here! I don't care if we have to share seats or sit in each other laps! We have to get these people out of here!"

"Lois…" Jeremiah pleaded.

"NO!" Lois shouted, pulling free. "If you're not going to help me, then I'll do it myself!" she said, her face full of determination.

Jeremiah looked at her. His forehead was covered with beads of sweat and he was breathing very fast. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

"Fine!" Lois said finally. She turned back towards the hall, but Jeremiahs hand on her arm stopped her.

"You're right." He said. She looked at him and could see remorse in his eyes. "You're right, Lois. If we all can't leave, then none of us do!"

Lois nodded at him slightly, resolve setting in.

"You get everyone in the woman's dorms. I'll get the men. No luggage! No laptops! Nothing but what they need to stay warm!" he said fiercely.

Lois nodded.

Once again, she turned towards the hall and set of at a jog.

She made it three steps before and arm wrapped around her waist, pulled her into the air, and a sharp pain slammed into her neck.

"Ow!" she screamed. "What the fugghhh…" her mouth went slack and her tongue felt as if it was no longer there at all. Her entire body suddenly seemed far from her mind, for all the control she had over it. Her legs and arms went limp and her entire body went slack. She was completely paralyzed.

"I'm sorry, Lois…" she heard Jeremiah say. She felt herself being scooped up into his arms. "We really don't have time for this."

She couldn't move her head, and her eyes seemed to take hours to roll from one side to the other. She was looking up; Jeremiahs face was a grim mask of determination. His upper body took up most of her field of vision. The vaulted ceiling moving past quickly was the only indication of movement she had.

Jeremiah was breathing heavy when they reached what Lois assumed was the elevator. He jostled her slightly as he leaned forward and pressed the panel to open it. The large steel doors opened and he carried her in, knelt down, and laid her on the floor. He then disappeared from view. A moment later, Lois heard the steel doors close and the muffled sound of the elevator rising towards the surface.

He was back in her field of vision then, kneeling over her. He looked down at her blue-grey eyes, now filled with fear, rage, and confusion. He brushed a lock of her hair from her face and caressed her cheek gentle. He then reached down and, using both hands, zipped up her overcoat.

"I wasn't lying about the storage units, you know…" he explained as he bundled her up. "In…" he looked at his watch. "About thirty-eight minutes, this entire facility will be destroyed. I may have exaggerated a bit on the yield, but trust me, we really don't want to be anywhere near this place when it goes." He looked around the elevator, then back down at Lois.

"I see why he picked you…" he said softly. "I'm mean, you're not hard on the eyes by any means, but there are prettier women. Smarter women. But you… you were willing to sacrifice yourself for the lives of three dozen people you don't even know. Now that is heroic. I don't know if he rubbed off on you or the other way around."

And even though his voice sounded like it was coming from very far away; even though it seemed he was speaking at half the normal speed, Lois understood everything he had just said. And even thought she was completely paralyzed, her body totally numb, she felt a very real chill run down her spine.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened with a grind.

"Here we go." Jeremiah said. He pulled her close to him, and awkwardly lifted her again, this time in a fireman's carry. It was only know that Lois noticed he was still carrying the long cylindrical case she saw earlier.

Lois watched the cement floor go by beneath her has he carried her through the motor-pool. She heard the doors to the elevator close as they went. Silence then, only the sound of Jeremiahs labored breaths and his foot steps echoes throughout the large space. They crossed the room quickly and Lois saw the steel double doors out the corner of her eye as they approached.

Jeremiah carried her to a panel on the wall and pressed a series of buttons.

The outer doors opened with the sound of powerful motors and the roar of the snow and wind outside. Jeremiah hefted Lois on his shoulders and braced himself against the wind.

Lois couldn't feel her arms. She couldn't feel her legs. She couldn't feel Jeremiahs body beneath her as she struggled through the snow towards the helicopter. But she could feel the cold. Down to her bones, she could feel it.

Lois couldn't see more than five feet in any direction out the corner of her eyes. The driving snow was like a vale. For a moment, she wondered if her fate was to be found frozen in the snow atop the shoulders of a mad man; if indeed there was anything left to find after the explosion.

Jeremiah walked for what seemed like forever to Lois. The tingling numbness throughout her body was struggling against the bone-chilling cold. Lois was almost grateful for whatever chemical concoction Jeremiah had pumped into her body. Almost. The desire to leap from him shoulders and punch him in the face was to overwhelming to ignore.

"Here!" she heard him say over the roar of the wind and snow.

A few labored steps later, the smooth gray surface of the helicopter entered her field of vision. Jeremiah made his way around the side of the helicopter and opened the hatch. He unceremoniously dumped Lois into the copilot seat.

"Ugh!" Jeremiah said, arching his back and messaging his neck. "How much did you say you weigh?" he asked over the roar of the wind.

Lois tried, willed, pleaded, and begged her leg to fly up and into his face. But it didn't so much as twitch.

He quickly buckled her harness and closed the door. Lois sat there, her head slumped forward and to one side, the howling wind slightly muffled outside the craft.

It was then that she realized how bad things really were. Even thought her hearing was still distant and muffled, the wind and snow was all she heard.

No voices from frightened passengers. No calming words from Dr. Stangin and his staff. No -orders from the pilot or co-pilot. For that matter, why was she sitting in the co-pilots seat?

The pilot's door opened and Jeremiah climbed in. He began flipping switches, pressing buttons, and turning knobs. "Let's hope the fuel lines aren't frozen…" he said absently. He pressed a button and Lois could here the muffled sound of the engines roaring to life.

"Yes!" He exclaimed.

He continued to press buttons and make adjustments as the sound from the engines continued to increase.

Finally, he grabbed the yoke and pulled, and with a lurch that shifted Lois to the point her head was leaning against the window of the door at an odd angle, the craft slowly rose into the air.

Almost immediately, the strong winds began to batter and jostle the helicopter. Jeremiah made a series of rapid adjustments, and continued to raise the craft. The powerful engines battled against the winds and the copter rose higher and higher.

Lois watched the ground fall away beneath them, and soon, all she could see was the thick vale of snow.

The crafted dipped and swayed as it rose, and even in her paralyzed state, Lois felt as if she was going to vomit. A few moments later, she felt her position change again, the force of their momentum pushing her back in the seat as the copter speed forward. The ride was a bumpy one.

"We're not out of the woods yet." She heard Jeremiah say. "If we're don't clear fifty miles, the EMP from the explosion will knock out all our systems. We crash into the ice at over two hundred miles an hour. If we survive that… well… we'll be really glad we brought our coats."

But Lois wasn't listening anymore.

She was too busy thinking about the three dozen people below her that were about to die.

Natasha was used to waking in the middle of the night to an empty bed. She had even went as far as suggesting Peter keep a cot in the lab, since he spent most nights there anyway. But he always refused, saying that if he was going to sleep anywhere, it was going to be in the bed next to his beautiful fiancé. The problem was, he didn't sleep that much.

She was walking down the hall that lead to the Labs in a red satin robe and bright pink fuzzy bunny slippers; a gift from Peter.

She pressed her hand against the DNA reader.

"Good evening, Dr. Nickilovich." Alisa said as the doors slid open.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Alisa." she said flatly. "Are you keeping my husband from his warm bed with another system diagnostic?"

"Dr. Stangin is in the lab," Alisa answered. "But he is not working on any of my systems."

"Then what is he working on?" Natasha asked.

"Nothing." Alisa answered. "He is resting on the floor."

Natasha looked down through three layers of transparent floor and saw her future husband lying on his back on the bottommost floor. Her heart dropped.

She screamed his name and ran down the stairs as fast as her bunny slippers would allow. She was on her knees cradling his head in her lap. "Peter! What's wrong? What happened?"

He tried to say "Jeremiah", but the sound he made started with a 'Z' and involved a lot of drool.

He was still crying and his eyes darted around the room frantically.

Natasha cursed in Russian. "Alisa!" she shouted. "Alert every staff member! I want everyone in here right now!"

A few moments of silence passed. Natasha was crying and rubbing Stangins' head and face. She was speaking softly to him in her native tongue. He was crying and trying his best to speak, to warn her, to tell her about the inevitable explosion, but the best he could do was make odd sounds and drool freely.

"All staff members have been alerted and are on their way to the labs." Alisa reported.

Natasha looked around the lab again. Her eyes feel on the open casings and the exposed kryptonite rods housed within. She noticed one rod was missing.

"Alisa, who was the last person in the lab?"

"You and Dr. Stangin are the last people in the lab."

"Prior to me, you literal thinking bitch!" Natasha shouted.

"Such insults are not appreciated, Dr. Nickilovich." Alisa responded.

"JUST ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION!"

"Prior to you, the last person in the lab was Jeremiah Kuttler." Alisa answered.

"Locate him and tell him to get down here right now!" Natasha screamed.

"Negative." Alisa responded. "Jeremiah Kuttler is no longer in the facility."

"WHAT!"

"Jeremiah Kuttler left the facility twenty-four minutes and seventeen seconds ago." Alisa reported.

Again, Natasha let fly with a string of Russian swears.

"What's going on?" a man asked as he entered the room. He was followed by the entire science team. They all rushed to Stangin's side, checking his pulse, flashing a penlight into his eyes.

"It's some type of neural paralyses." One doctor explained. "His heart rate is strong and his breathing is steady. We need to get him upstairs!" They began to lift him.

To his credit, Stangin tried for the hundredth time to say the words "Storage Unit", but he only managed something that sounded more like "Toy wedge tunic."

"Uh… guys…" a woman said loudly. She was standing in front of the large display screen, rapidly typing commands into the virtual console before her. "We have a big problem."

The team turned and saw what she saw.

"Oh God." Someone said softly.

"No." a man whispered.

"Cancel the transfer!" someone shouted.

"I did!" the woman shouted. "But the reactions already started!"

"Vent the reactor!" someone ordered. "Start the reverse fusion process!"

"There's not time!" the woman said, still punching commands into the console. The display blinked once, twice, and then disappeared completely. The virtual console vanished a second later. Then, all the lights in the lab went out. The entire room was bathed in the red glow from the reactor core. A glow that was pulsed ominously and grew more intense with every passing second.

"How much time do we have?" someone asked.

"Minutes maybe…" the woman answered.

"Should we tell the others?" someone asked.

"Tell them what? 'Sorry to wake you in the middle of the night, but we just wanted to tell you that you only have about six minutes before the reactor explodes and we all die. Have a good night.'"

Silence followed.

One of the lab techs turned into the man next to her and buried her face in his chest. She was sobbing freely. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close as his own tears began to fall.

Another; a tall man of African decent felt his knees buckle and collapsed to the floor, landing on his rear. He pulled the glasses from his eyes and just looked at the pulsing light.

On the floor, Natasha was rocking back and forth and crying. Stangin's head was still in her lap and she continued to caresses his face and head gently. Stangin laid there, still unable to move, but he could feel her touch, gentle and soothing against his skin. His eyes were only for her, now. He looked at here soft features, her full lips, her bright eyes, her smooth skin. And he wished more than anything he could smile at her.

"I… y-yove… y-you…" he managed.

Natasha sobbed a little harder at that. She leaned forward and gently kissed his lips. She kept her face close to his and whispered "I love you", in Russian.

And with a final pulse of bright crimson light, the reactor exploded.


	25. Chapter 25

Clark stepped out of the elevator and into the bullpen at the Daily Planet. As always, the room was abuzz with tension, electricity, excitement, and urgency.

It was a large open space with rows upon rows of desk sat against one another. The far wall was a line of offices, the largest of which belonged to the Daily Planets Editor, Perry White. To the left was the graphic designs and layout department. To the right was the break room. There were three pillars running parallel along each row; a cluster of flat-screen televisions anchored to each near the ceiling. Almost every set was tuned to a different news station.

As Perry had explained when he had them installed: "Internet. Television. Radio. Newspaper. In that order!" he said. "But people rely on newspapers, because we're the ones that get it right!" The idea was that when a story breaks on the internet or television, the papers take the time to dig, uncover the facts, and report the _real_ story.

Clark's desk was near one of the far windows. He had traded three times and even went as far to offer Mary Gibbons a week of his vacation time to get the desk. He wanted it so he could "keep an eye" on the city while he worked. People were starting to make comments about him staring intently at this wall or that, asking him if he was seeing things that weren't there.

While, technically, the answer was "yes"; he was seeing things using his X-ray and telescopic vision, but instead, he found himself falling back on the same excuse: "I was just thinking really hard."

He placed his briefcase on the desk and made to sit in his chair.

"KENT!" the shout came.

Clark's rear hadn't even touched his chair when Perry came storming out of his office. He was wearing a white button up, grey slacks and a matching tie that hung loosely around his neck.

"My office! NOW!" Perry barked.

Clark swallowed hard and followed the man inside the largest office on the floor.

Perry slammed the door behind him.

He made his was around his desk like an angry storm. Clark simply stood there, and braced for the inevitable tirade that was to come.

Perry stood with his back to Clark, between his desk and chair, staring out the large floor to ceiling window at the city beyond. He took a deep breath.

"What newspaper do you work for?" he asked finally.

Clark let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "I work for the Daily Planet, chief." He answered.

"Do you?" Perry asked; turning and facing him. "Because I can't tell. You're barely here. And when you are, your mind seems to be a hundred miles away. You disappear for days at a time; no call out. No doctors excuse. And then you just reappear like everything's dandy. So it leads me to think that that either, A.) Maybe you don't really work here, or B.) Maybe you shouldn't."

"I-I'm sorry, chief. My mom was sick and I had to rush home…"

"No excuses, Kent! I've heard enough of them to last a life time. 'Your mother was sick. Your dog was lost. Your car broke down. Lois was missing.' Enough already." Perry flopped down in his chairs and looked up at the man in front of him. He took another deep breath and let it out slowly. He eyed him in silence for a long moment. "Kent," he began. "You're a great writer. You are the fastest typist I've ever seen, you get stories that even Lois can't get, and I don't even want to know how. But these disappearing acts will not be tolerated. I need reporters who are dedicated, Kent. Reporters who put the story first. Unreliable reporters are no use to me. No matter how good they are. This is a dying media, Kent. Sales are down across the board. We need to be better, faster, and more reliable, than the Journals, and the Posts, and the Times of the country. That means my reporters have to be the best, Kent. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"I-I really do, chief. And I apologize. I just… well… it was my mom, you know… and I had to make sure she was alright…"

The door burst open and a young photographer blew in to the room like a gust of wind.

"CHIEF! YOU GOTTA SEE THIS! Oh, hey C.K." Jimmy Olsen said as he pulled the remote control from his boss's desk.

"Hi, Jimmy." Clark responded with a smile, glad for the interruption.

"My door was closed, Olsen." Perry said, sitting forward. "When my door is closed, that usually means I don't want to be disturbed. Now was one of those times, Olsen."

"I'm sorry chief…" Jimmy apologized, flipping channels. "But trust me; this is gonna be worth it." He found the news station he was looking for.

A woman was holding a microphone to her mouth. The sky behind her was dark purple with the hint of dawn on the horizon. The CNN logo was firm in the bottom left hand corner of the screen and next to it; the reporter's name, one Tammy Langston, was apparently reporting LIVE! From the Australian Air Force base.

"… unconfirmed, but reports from surrounding outpost are all the same; that at four twenty-eight a.m. local time, and explosion lit up the sky and sent tremors along the ice shelf that were felt as far as four hundred miles away. The epicenter of the explosion is believed to be the Stangin Research facility located in a remote location of the Antarctica, roughly three hundred and sixty miles northeast of the Ronne Ice Shelf."

"Isn't that where Lois went?" Jimmy asked.

Perry glanced over at Clark, who swallowed hard, but didn't take his eyes off the screen.

"Because of its remote location, authorities are having a difficult time reaching the facility to confirm the amount of damage and whether or not there are any survivors. Based on the reported nature of the Stangin Research Facilities experiments, namely experiments with nuclear fusion; local authorities have been prompted to send out a N.E.S.T.; Nuclear Emergency Search Team; as a precaution. Again, the reports of a nuclear incident are unconfirmed, but an explosion did rock the northern area of Antarctica and as of now, all we can do is hope and pray for the men and women located at that research facility."

The news had shifted to an unrelated story, but Perry was still looking at the screen. "Tell Alice and Walter to contact their sources in the UN and find out what the joint nations are planning to do about the collection of international scientist that were at the facility. Tell Doris to get in touch with Jason Wright at the Sydney Morning Herald; it's a bit of a rag, but he owes me a favor."

Perry picked up the phone and start dialing. "Clark," he said as he punched numbers into the phone. "I want you on the next flight to Sydney. I'm sure Lois is alright, and I want you there when she pops up. Maybe between the two of you, you can get a decent story out of all this…"

"Umm… chief…" this from Jimmy.

Perry looked up and saw Jimmy standing in front of an open office door. Clark Kent was no were to be seen.


	26. Chapter 26

The SR-71 Blackbird, the world's fastest aircraft, holds the world record for speed for traveling at Mach 3.3, or roughly 2200mph. It could make the trip from Metropolis to the outer fringes of the Antarctica in just less than six hours.

Superman was there in twenty-three minutes.

The icy landscape was a blur beneath him. Mountains of snow and ice whipped past as he sped towards the Ronne Ice Shelf. While he had traveled the world numerous times, had been to each and every continent, and had studied the world from the vantage of space on numerous occasions, Superman was admittedly not very familiar with the frozen landscape beneath him. He didn't have many reasons to visit Antarctica. He was, in fact, flying blind, relatively speaking.

He reached the area he recognized as the Ronne Ice Shelf, and then adjusted his course, heading northeast. Not sure of the facilities location, he combined his telescopic and x-ray vision and searched the horizon for any signs of an explosion.

He saw the storm then.

Swollen clouds blocked out the sun, cast ominous shadows over the landscape, and battered the terrain with snow, hail, and icy wind. One moment, the storm was a hundred miles away. The next, Superman was flying headlong through the blizzard. Hail the size of basketballs smashes harmlessly against his invulnerable frame. Icy wind went unnoticed. The sub-zero temperature was a distant thought.

His mind was on one thing and one thing only: Finding the facility. Finding Lois.

And then he saw it.

He slowed to a hover and hung in the air above it.

The crater stretched out beneath him like a great scar on the landscape. It reached fifty miles in every direction. The bottom, which Superman guessed was nearly a quarter-mile deep, was completely covered with water. Closer look revealed the scattered corpses of a dozen different species of Antarctic aquatic life.

Superman slowly descended towards the destruction. His heart was pounding, both from the physical exertion of the flight and the fear he felt for his wife. There was no sign of life. Nothing moved, save for the driving snow and the howling wind. No sign of the facility remained.

" _If Lois was here when it exploded…"_ he thought grimly.

Superman pushed the though from his mind and flew further down. He scanned the crater with his x-ray vision, turning slowly in a tight circle as he descended.

As he grew closer to the bottom, he could see other objects floating in the water. There was a vehicle of some sort; small and half hidden in the snow and water; perhaps a snow mobile. Not to far away, there was something larger, a truck of some kind. As he got closer, Superman could see large tires and other chucks of metal scattered here and there. But there was no sign of Lois, or anyone else for that matter…

And then he saw it.

There, in the darkness, and the snow, and the gloom, and the wind; he saw it. Small and frail, charred and black and burnt beyond belief. A human skeleton; resting against a chuck of ice floating in the water; it's lower half absent. And that's when he began to see the others. It was like his brain was trying to protect him from it all, but now that he had seen the first; he could not help but to see the rest.

Over two dozen of them; all floating beneath the surface of the icy water. All lost to him. All dead.

And Lois…

A wave of nausea hit Superman like a physical thing. His eyes rolled in his head and his vision swam. He vaguely felt the sensation of falling before the water enveloped him. The freezing sensation hit him like a thousand needles penetrating his body all at once. He tried to yell but swallowed water. He tried to fly up, but barely managed to rise three feet. He swam for the surface, but suddenly, his arms felt heavy and tired. He kicked his legs with all his might, but if felt as if he was moving in slow motion and the surface seemed to be growing further away.

His body screamed for air, a feeling Superman rarely experienced. It was followed by another sensation that was alien to him; panic.

He kicked and reached and pulled with all his might. But it wasn't enough. His strength was gone. His energy was fading, and his body was running out of air.

He was drowning.

He closed his eyes tight, and saw her there. Her blue-grey eyes looking back at him; her bright smile beckoning him, her radiant skin, soft features, and indomitable spirit calling to him.

 _"Lois…"_ he whispered in his mind.

He reached for her, but missed. He tried again, and swore he could feel his fingertips brush the soft skin of her cheek. He reached for her again and again and again. But each time he did, she seemed to be just out of reach.

He reached again, his hand intent on finding her, touching her, holding her close.

His fingers wrapped around something solid, and hard, and cold.

Superman opened his eyes and saw the large chunk of ice floating on the surface of the water. He squeezed it and pulled hard. His head broke the surface of the water and he inhaled deep and coughed hard. His vision was swimming, his head was pounding, and his heart was like a hammer in his chest. He felt feverish and frozen to the bone all at the same moment. He tried to pull himself up on the ice, but he felt weaker than he'd ever felt before.

He felt like he was being exposed to kryptonite.

Superman took a deep breath and with every remaining bit of his fading energy, he pulled. He pulled as hard as he could. He pulled with everything he had. He pulled with force of will and desperation and hope and the complete and utter refusal to ever give up. He pulled his body from the freezing water and onto the floating ice block.

And there he lay.

His was completely exhausted. His strength was gone. His powers were gone.

And as his vision faded; as tears began to fall from his eyes and turn to ice before they could leave his cheeks; as darkness consumed him; Superman slowly realized he may be about to die.

Only one thought floated through his mind, more terrifying and gut wrenching and heartbreaking; one thought that made him feel like he was already dead.

Lois was gone.


	27. Chapter 27

_"How many times has he saved you?"_

 _Lois blinked at the question. "What?"_

 _"How many times has he saved you?"_

 _Lois thought for a moment. "I don't exactly keep track…"_

 _"Twenty-eight."_

 _"Twenty-eight?" Lois repeated._

 _"He saved your life or rescued you from a life threatening situation twenty-eight. Twenty-eight times you were in mortal danger and had to be… rescued." The last word was said like it tasted vile and bitter._

 _"And how many times has he saved you?" Lois asked with a smirk._

 _The man standing across from her gave her a hard look with his dark eyes._

 _"I agreed to this because I thought you were going to take it seriously. If you're here to play games…"_

 _"I'm sorry…" Lois said. "I am taking this seriously. Please… Bruce… Continue."_

 _Lois looked at the man standing across from her; his tall muscular frame now covered with a karate GI. His dark hair; now slicked back with sweat. His dark eyes, so full of focus and determination, fire and ferocity, knowledge and understanding. But there was no sympathy there. No remorse or regret. Just purpose and passion._

 _It was there, looking into those eyes, that Lois understood why Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy was so sought after by nearly every woman he met; as well as why Batman, Gotham City's Dark Knight, was so feared by the criminal underworld as a whole._

 _They were in the Bat-Cave, Batman's subterranean layer. It was a vast cavern located beneath his home, Wayne Manor, located on the outskirts of Gotham City._

 _They were standing on a training mat set off to one corner of the cave. There were weight benches, free weights, a heavy bag, and a collection of life size fighting dummies hanging from the stalactite covered ceiling. There where also a large collection of weapons hanging on one smoothed over wall; an impressive collection of swords, staffs, battle axe's, knives, and even a mace._

 _Bright florescent lights hung from the ceiling as well, but were angled in a way that only the immediate area was illuminated. The rest of the cave remained bathed in darkness and shadows. Lois could hear bats clamoring restlessly throughout._

 _She was wearing blue Capri style exercise pants that clung to her legs and a matching sports top that left her mid-drift exposed. Her hair was pulled into a tight braid. Her feet were bare, her hands were wrapped in sports tape, and her body was covered with sweat. For the last hour and a half, she and Bruce had sparred, and gone over various martial arts and self defense techniques. Clark had asked, nearly begged Bruce to take the time to teach Lois, after a recent incident that had left Lois in the hospital for a week with a broken rib and multiple cuts from a very large knife. Superman had subsequently assured Bruce that he would spend the night patrolling Gotham in his stead so that he could take the time to train Lois._

 _Bruce still wasn't happy about it._

 _As it was, Lois was sore and tired, and starting to feel the throbbing from a backhand to the head she failed to block. Bruce, on the other hand, looked none the worse for wear, and had barely broken a sweat. And despite her best efforts, Lois had not so much as landed a finger on him… yet._

 _"Twenty-eight times…" he continued after a long moment. "That you have placed yourself in harms way, usually chasing a story or sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, often placing the lives of others in jeopardy as well. And twenty-eight times, Superman has saved you."_

 _"Is there a point?" Lois asked, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice._

 _"The point is this: why don't you ever save yourself?"_

 _Lois opened her mouth to respond… but then closed it. She thought about the question and realized she didn't have a real answer._

 _"You don't know how." Bruce said matter-of-factly._

 _"I know how to fight." Lois responded._

 _"As does any animal backed into a corner." Bruce pressed on. "But what happens to the tiger after you've locked it in the cage? When all it has to claw and bite are steel bars and a lock it doesn't understand. A coyote trapped in a bear-trap may chew its leg off to be free, but it will soon die of infection, or fall victim to a larger predator that catches the sent of fresh blood."_

 _"So what?" Lois asked. "You gonna lock me in a cage and see if I can escape?"_

 _And with a smile that could either melt your heart or make you pee your pants, Bruce answered; "Not quite."_

 _Lois had a second to register the chill that ran down her spine before Bruce spoke again._

 _"Lights."_

 _The cave went dark. Not just dark. Pitch black._

 _Lois instinctively put her hands out before here and began feeling the air around her. She couldn't see anything. Not her hands before her. Not the floor beneath her. Not the ceiling above her. There was only the darkness; complete and total darkness._

 _"Bruce?" she called out. There was no response. Only the sound of the bats scattered throughout the cave._

 _She took a step forward, her hands feeling for something tangible and solid. She eased forward towards the spot were Bruce had just been standing. Surely he was still there. She didn't hear him move, and on this mat, every step would have been audible._

 _"I'm not there." His voice called out from the darkness, seemingly reading her mind. His voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, as if the pitch black vale was speaking to her._

 _Lois spun in place slowly, her hands reaching in every direction, trying to feel something, anything, all the while knowing she wouldn't. Not until he wanted her to._

 _"This some sort of test? Your sick idea of a game?" she shouted._

 _"I don't play games." He said, and again, the voice seemed to come from the very darkness around her._

 _Lois's heart began to pound. She began to take fast, shallow breaths. She took a few steps to here left, where she remembered the wall was. If she could reach it, place her back to it… she may be able to find her way._

 _"You're five feet from the edge. It's a seventy foot drop to the bottom." Bruce said plainly._

 _Lois stopped moving. Her heart was a jackhammer. "Enough!" She shouted. "Turn the lights back on!"_

 _"Why?"_

 _"Because I can't see a damned thing!"_

 _"So?"_

 _"Bruce! This isn't funny!"_

 _"It's not supposed to be."_

 _"DAMNIT, BRUCE!" she screamed. "TURN THE LIGHTS BACK ON!"_

 _"If you keep screaming, you'll agitate the bats." He said._

 _Lois was shaking. Her eyes were burning and she was having difficulty breathing. She was on the edge of sheer panic._

 _"Control your emotions, Lois." Bruce called out._

 _"I-I can't…" she breathed. "I-I-I'm scared."_

 _"Scared of what?" he asked from the shadows. "Of the darkness? There's nothing to be afraid of here."_

 _"I CAN'T SEE!"_

 _"You don't need to see." Bruce replied. "This is your cage Lois. Not this cave or even the darkness. The cage is your mind. That's the only cage there is; the only cage there ever is. Once you realize that, once you accept it; that this cage is in your mind, a cage of your own creation; then you ultimately have the key to unlock it. Find the key, Lois."_

 _Lois was breathing hard now. She was shaking slightly and a few tears had run down her face._

 _"The cage is in my mind! The cage is my mind!" she thought. "And I have the key; I just wish I knew where the hell I left it!"_

 _"Lights!" she said. Nothing happened. "LIGHTS!" she screamed. Again, nothing happened. The darkness pressed in around her. "I thought you said I had the key!" she screamed._

 _"The cage is in your mind, Lois. But this cave… is mine."_

 _"YOU SON-OF-A—"_

 _The bats screeched down at her then. She felt the flutter of leather wings around her head and face. She raised her hands to protect herself and dropped to one knee. The bats fluttered and flew around her for a moment, then slowly returned to the upper corners of the cave._

 _"I warned you."_

 _Lois was breathing so hard her chest was beginning to ache. Her heart was pounding, but not from fear. Now, she was pissed: Pissed at Bruce and his stupid test; pissed at herself for being so weak; pissed at Clark for having to save her all the time. Well, maybe not the last part._

 _She wanted to call him every curse word she had every heard. But those damned bats would be on her before she could get to the really good ones._

 _And there, in the darkness of the Bat-Cave, a light went on over Lois' head._

 _She took a deep breath and let loose the most high-pitched, ear splitting scream she could muster. She screamed as high and as hard as she could. She screamed long and loud._

 _And the bats went crazy with the sound. The sound of hundreds, maybe thousands of bats taking flight and screeching through the darkness of the cave filled her ears. And still she screamed._

 _She felt the beating of small wings, the brushing of fur, the scraping of claws and the biting of small teeth. And still she screamed. Bats clung to her legs and arms; crawled over her head and about her shoulders._

 _And still she screamed._

 _She screamed until her throat was raw and sore. She screamed until her lungs ached. She screamed and screamed, and screamed._

 _"LIGHTS!" Bruce shouted._

 _The lights flashed to life like small suns in the darkness. Only then did Lois stop screaming. She was temporarily blinded and had to shield her eyes as they adjusted. When at last he eyes adjusted, Bruce was standing over her, a small cloud of bats swarming around the two of them. He shooed them away absentmindedly. Now that the sounds of Lois screams were gone, the bats were content to return to there resting place or seek life elsewhere._

 _Bruce was covered in tiny scratches and bite marks. His hair was tossed and messy, but aside from that, he looked his normal, brooding self._

 _He looked down at Lois for a long moment. Then slowly reached out and offered her a hand up._

 _Lois took it and he pulled her to her feet._

 _"Not exactly what I had in mind." he said. "But effective."_

 _"Thanks." Lois said. Her voice was little more than a whisper; her throat was raw and strained. She probably wouldn't be able to talk for the next couple of days. "I figured if I screwed with the bats bad enough, they'd attack anything and everything… even you."_

 _"You realize I didn't have to turn the lights back on to escape them."_

 _"Yeah, but you realize I wouldn't stop screaming until you did."_

 _"True."_

 _Bruce walked over to one of the weight benches and grabbed a towel. He tossed it to Lois._

 _She caught it and began wiping her arms, neck and shoulders. The white towel came away with small patches of crimson._

 _Lois ignored it._

 _Bruce was wiping his own wounds when she drew even with him._

 _"Does escaping cages always require so much of a sacrifice?" she asked._

 _Bruce glanced at her for a moment. "Realizing the only cage is the one we create for ourselves is a lesson you only have to learn once."_

 _"Yeah…" Lois said, and then coughed. Bruce handed her a small bottle of water. Lois took it, opened it, and took a long drink. She massaged her throat as she swallowed. When she was done, she regarded Bruce again._

 _"Okay… so we create our own cages. I get that…" she continued. "But someone else locks us in. How do you always find the right key?"_

 _Bruce turned and faced her then, his face serious, his feature dark._

 _"Those who wish to do you harm often fall into one of two categories: the ones that fear you and the ones that hate you. The ones that fear you will do only what they must to be rid of you. There are no elaborate schemes or plans. No intricate traps or devices. They would just as soon leave you locked in the closet as put a bullet in your head. The ones that hate you; they are the ones that go through great lengths. The ones who spend weeks, or months, or even longer, dreaming of nothing but your end. Their every waking thought is of watching you suffer; slowly. Painfully! They don't want it to be quick and painless. That would rob them of their fulfillment._

 _"The secret is this: in both cases; in every case; the key is always in your hands, because YOU are always the key. Whether they underestimate you, over plan for you, think they have beaten you, or simply forget all about you; they will always, ALWAYS, give you the opportunity to unlock your own cage. The only thing you have to do is recognize the opportunity and take it when it presents itself."_

 _"That's easy for you to say." Lois whispered. "Don't you carry a lock-pick set in your utility belt?"_

 _Bruce offered her a slight smile. "Some locks aren't as metaphorical as others."_

 _"I heard screaming."_

 _Lois turned. An older gentleman in a black suit and white shirt was standing on the other side of the training mat. Alfred Pennyworth was the butler and friend to Bruce Wayne and, in some ways, an assistant to Batman. He was also the closest thing Bruce had to a father._

 _"Is everything alright?" he asked._

 _Bruce looked at Lois. Lois looked back. A silent understanding passed between the two._

 _"Everything's fine, Alfred." Bruce answered._

 _"I'm sure, sir." Alfred responded dryly. "I took the liberty of preparing some hot tea with extra lemon; does wonders for a sore throat."_

 _Lois smiled. "Thank you, Alfred."_

 _"And judging from the marks about your arms and upper body, perhaps I should prepare two doses of Rabies vaccinations, and some small bandages and antibiotics."_

 _"Thank you, Alfred." This time from Bruce._

 _"In the future, sir," Alfred began. "Perhaps your guests would enjoy meeting you elsewhere in the grounds; somewhere without the possibility of contracting a disease. Might I suggest the pool…?"_

 _And with a slight bow and nod, Alfred turned and walked away._

 _Lois smiled. She liked Alfred._

 _Bruce was already walking past her, heading towards the main section of the cave._

 _"You can shower upstairs after you get the vaccine. I'll ask Alfred to prepare some dinner. I'll also contact Superman and let him know we are finished here."_

 _Bruce stopped on the far side of the training mat. He was still and silent for a long moment._

 _"Next month, I will be out of the country on business." he said matter-of-factly. "When I return, you can come back for your next session. I'll make the arrangements with Clark." And without another word, he left the training area._

 _Lois was sore, tired, covered with small scratches and tiny bite marks. Her throat was raw, she could barely speak, and she was pretty sure she had just contracted rabies._

 _But despite it all, she felt absolutely wonderful!_


	28. Chapter 28

Lois awoke and was instantly reminded of her twenty-first birthday. Her friends had taken her to a bar and nearly every guy they met had bought her a drink, most of which were shots of Tequila or some type of whisky. The next morning, she woke with the worst hangover in history, spent the entire morning hugging the toilet tightly, and promising God that if he let her live, she'd never drink again.

He had, and she hadn't… much.

Now, with her head pounding and her head feeling like it was ten sizes too small, she wished for a hangover.

She opened her eyes and immediately shut them. It was bright; too bright for her eyes to handle at the moment.

She tried to rub them, but her hands couldn't move. No, that was wrong; she realized. Her hands could move just fine. Her arms were the problem; more specifically, her wrist. She opened her eyes then out of panic. The light was blinding for a moment, but she quickly adjusted. She looked from one wrist to the other and found them tied to the arms of a chair with large, thick, black leathery straps. She tried to push from the chair, but found her legs were also bound. She tried to lean forward and felt another strap restraining her chest.

She was trapped.

Her heart was pounding and she was starting to panic. She looked frantically around the room, searching for an explanation.

There were two large floor lamps a few feet from her, one to each side. They were the type of lamps used on for lighting movie sets and for interviews. In front of her was a small video camera mounted on a tripod. It was pointed at her. To her left was a wall covered in some strange black pitted material. It reminded her of foam rubber substance some people bought to lay atop their beds for a more comfortable sleep. The same material covered the wall to the right. There was more on the ceiling. The wall before her was not exactly a wall, but a mirror that stretched from floor to ceiling and reached from wall to wall. It was broken into four large panels, all placed together nearly seamlessly. In the mirror, Lois could see the wall behind her was the same as the walls to her left and right.

" _Sound proof…"_ Lois thought.

No stranger to waking in strange situations, usually under similar circumstances, Lois closed her eyes and took a series of slow, steady breaths. Her first priority was to assess how bad things were.

She opened her eyes and forced herself to take a long hard look at her surroundings.

She could she herself in the mirror, and only then realized she was nearly naked; only her blue sports bra and black boy shorts kept her from being nude. The chair she was sitting in was non-descript, aside from being made entirely out of metal; steel she guessed. The seat was hard and she was just beginning to register the numb, tingling sensation in her rear and for the first time wondered how long she had been sitting here.

Her hair was a mess; it hung loose and cascaded around her face in thick locks. She also realized that her hair was damp. As a matter of fact, her entire body was moist. She was sweating, and looked as if she had just finished a 5K run. But if she was seated the entire time…

And Lois noticed the heat. The room was warm; hot even, like a small kitchen with the oven on and open. In the mirror, Lois could see the beads of sweat, feel them trickling down her skin. She blinked, and a droplet fell from her eye.

" _At least I'm not going to freeze to death…"_ Lois thought. And then the memories came flooding back.

She was in bed, and Jeremiah had awoken her, told her they were in danger. Told her they had to leave. She tried to warn the others, but he did something to her, stabbed her with a needle, and drugged her.

" _That sonova bitch…"_

Then she was in the cold. The snow and the wind. It was so cold… Then, the helicopter, looking out the window, unable to move… And then… nothing.

" _What the hell happened? Where the hell am I? Where the hell is Jeremiah so I can kick his—"_

"I see you're awake." The voice boomed. "Good. We can begin."

Lois's looked from one side of the room to the other. The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. It was full of base and distorted, the type you hear in those interviews where the people are sitting in a shadow and don't want to be indentified.

"Jeremiah?" Lois shouted. "Is that you?! Untie my so I can put my foot up your—"

The pain was sudden and intense. Lois's entire body went rigid and her every muscle felt as if it were going to tear free of her body. Her head shot back and her eyes closed and she screamed with both surprise and pain.

And just as suddenly as it had come… it was gone.

Lois stopped screaming and her head fell forward. She was breathing heavy, her chest struggling against strap holding her to the chair.

"The chair you are sitting in is connected to electrical wires, making it, in fact, and electric chair. I just sent one hundred volts of electricity through your body for one second." The voice explained.

Lois opened her eyes and looked at the chair in the mirror. She could see the thick lines of wire wrapped around the legs of the chair. The wires themselves snaked towards the mirrored wall and vanish beneath it.

"I am going to ask you some questions, Lois." The voice continued. "If you lie, or if you try to say anything that is not an answer to the question I ask, you will be punished. I trust that what you just felt was rather… uncomfortable. Rest assured that each punishment will be more sever than the last. Every time I shock you, the voltage, as well as the duration, will double.

"Go to hell!" Lois spat.

And the pain returned.

Again, Lois's body felt as if it was trying to tear itself apart. Her nerves felt as if they were on fire, her eyes closed tight, her hands went rigid, her toes curled…

And Lois screamed.

And two seconds later, it was over.

"GO TO HELL!" Lois shouted, her breaths heavy, her chest heaving; a small amount of saliva trailing from her mouth. Tears were beginning to well in her eyes, but she blinked them away.

"Very well…" the voice sighed

And again, electricity shot through her body. The pain was so intense, Lois was unable to scream. Her mouth stretched open wide, but no sound escaped her lips. Her body tensed again and her muscles spasm uncontrollably. For four long, agonizing seconds, Lois, head back, mouth open, and body rigid, twitched and bounced and rocked against the leather straps that held her in place.

And then it was over.

Lois took a deep breath and let loose a gut wrenching yell. She was crying freely, her chest was heaving, and saliva ran from her mouth as she screamed.

"That was four hundred volts, Lois. You know what comes next. I have no doubt of how tough a woman you are, but I must warn you; sixteen hundred volts is more than enough to kill someone, depending on the Amps. Will you cooperate?"

Fear, anger, pain, frustration, sorrow, rage; the all welled inside her small body. She breathed deep and screamed again, and this time, she tried her best to pull and push and tug and yank herself free of the straps. She used every bit of her strength, every once of her emotions, every fiber of her being.

And when her strength faded, she was still trapped.

She sat in the metal chair, exhausted and crying and more afraid then she could ever remember being before in her entire life. She looked at herself in the mirror; at the small pale woman in a blue sports bra and black boy shorts, with a long vale of black matted hair covering her face, her body covered in sweat, her eyes red with tears, her chest, arms, and legs bound to a metal chair; an electric chair, with thick leather straps. A wave of utter helplessness washing over her…

"Perhaps another jolt will make your more cooperative…"

"NO!" Lois shouted, shaking her head frantically. "No… please…" she added, her voice growing soft with tears and fear.

"Then I trust we understand each other." The voice said almost cheerfully. "And to show what a good sport I am, we are going to start all over from one second and one hundred volts. How's that sound? Alright, let's begin."

Lois saw the tiny red LED light on the front of the video camera flash to life.


	29. Chapter 29

Agent Davison was sitting behind a small office desk with a white top. Or at least that's what color he remembered it being. As it was, he hadn't seen the top of the desk in months. Since moving to the FBI's MHD (Meta-Human Division) here in Metropolis, it seemed like every time he sat in the high backed, ergonomically correct, black mesh chair, he was looking down at a desk full of files, agent and officer reports, eye witness testimonies, maps, and a never ending collage of photographs.

On rare occasions, the random piece of hard evidence found it's was across his desk as well. Once forensics had ran their tests, took their own bundle of photos, and examined it at great length, Agent Davison was given free reign to examine it himself.

As was now the case.

The two pieces were identical in design, but varied in size. The first piece, the remains of the device from the ferry, was considerably larger than the piece recovered from the school bus. Besides that, they were almost exactly the same.

Forensics had spent hours comparing it to every explosive device they had on file. The bomb squad called in every expert they had, three of which were retired agents themselves. The lab spent more than twenty hours examining the pieces, de-engineering the remains, trying to recreate what the complete device would look like; trying to figure out how it might function…

And each and every one of them came away scratching their heads. Not a one of them had the faintest idea what the hell kind of device it was, how it was made, what type of explosive material was used, or even how it was detonated.

And now, the two pieces sat atop their respective plastic evidence bags, on Agent Davison's desk. He had been staring at them for almost an hour. He was no science expert. He wasn't a lab technician. He was not an expert in explosives, even though he had witnessed his fair share of explosions. He was just a federal agent with a job to do.

And that's what he was trying his damnedest to do.

He often equated solving cases like this with solving a jigsaw puzzle; one with a thousand pieces! Except you didn't know what the end result was supposed to look like, and some, if not most, of the key pieces were missing.

"Frustrating" was one word he would often use to describe the process.

The two pieces before him provided a handful of clues: One; whoever was behind this was smart. Not just "got all A's in school" smart, but next level, Stephen Hawking, Albert Einstein, "solves the New York Times crossword puzzle with a pen!" smart! Two; he was careful. The variance in the size of the pieces showed that he wanted to make sure he only destroyed what he was trying to destroy. The Lex-Corp Hydro-Nuclear ferry was roughly seven time the size of the Oakridge Middle School bus. The piece recovered from it was roughly seven times larger than the piece recovered from the bus. Each device was tailored to its target.

The third thing he learned from the pieces on his desk was that his suspect was someone with a serious grudge against Superman. You don't take this type of care and consideration; you don't invest the time and effort, unless you are seriously dedicated to making a statement. The devices were hand crafted with great care, and based on the reports from the lab; great consideration and expense. The materials found in even these small parts were not something you found in your local hardware store. The casings on both were made from a rare material, Depleted Promethium, and spectral analysis showed traces of a substance known as "Inth Metal".

The final thing he learned from it all was the indisputable fact that whoever was behind it all; the super smart, super careful, grudge holding individual; was beyond redemption. Anytime someone decides the value of human life is less than that of the point they have to make, they have crossed over to a point of no return. They can't be talked off the ledge. They can't be reasoned with. They will not compromise or negotiate. No… cases like this, Agent Davison realized; they don't end in trials, or prison sentences', or psychiatric treatments. They end in blood.

The only question was "how much blood?"

"Davison!"

He snapped out of his trance like reprieve and looked up. Agent Sanders, a female operator, and newest addition the MHD, had a look on her face that was a mixture of fear and dread.

Without a word, Agent Davison rose from his chair and followed her from the room.

The break room at the MHD was little more than a renovated storage closet. The ten by twelve foot space hardly had enough room to accommodate the two vending machines nestled against the wall on the right; one full of twenty once beverages, the other full of various candies, cakes, and cookies. There were two small tables, three chairs each, a small shelf with a microwave oven atop it, a small sink, and a small fridge.

Usually, there were no more than three people in the break room at a time. At the moment, every agent in the MHD was crowded inside the small area.

Agent Sanders and Agent Davison joined the group. The reason for all the commotion? The 32inch flat screen monitor mounted to the far wall. On it was the upper visage of a woman, early thirties, medium length black hair, currently cascading around her face in a moist, matted mess; her upper body covered by only a blue sports bra. She was sitting in a chair that seemed to be made of metal, and she was bound to it with leather straps that crossed each wrist and her chest.

"What the hell is this?" Davison asked.

"We were watching the game, and this… this just cut in…" one of the agents, an older man in the front of the group answered.

"Okay…" Davison said. "But what is it?"

"This woman tied to this chair… she's just sitting there."

"How long has this been on?" Davison asked.

"About two minutes."

"And all she's doing is sitting there?"

"Yeah."

"So change the channel."

"We did. It's on all of them." This from Sanders.

Davison frowned. "This is a cable satellite feed. That's not possible."

"That's what I said…" Sanders responded. "Then I grabbed you."

Another agent rounded the corner, out of breath and pulling a cell phone from his ear. "It's everywhere!" he announced. "Local. National! Even worldwide! Every station! Everywhere!"

"What the hell is going on?" Davison asked.

"What is your name?"

Davison's blood ran cold. The sound of that deep, electronically distorted voice coming from the television sent a wave of silence through the small room.

"You know what my name is!" the woman answered fiercely.

There was a slight flicker of light, and the woman's head shot back and she gritted her teeth. For one second, her body tensed and thrashed in the seat.

Beside Davison, Agent Sanders covered her mouth with her hand.

And then she went limp. Her head slumped forward and she took long heavy breaths.

"He's shocking her." Some stated.

"What is your name?" the voice asked again, calm and steady.

"Lois!" the woman shouted. "Lois Lane! And your name is Je—"

Another flicker, and again, the woman's body shot bolt upright. She screamed loud and hard as she twitched uncontrollably in the metal chair. Tears leeched from her clinched eyes. And two seconds later, she was slumped forward again, her breathing labored. She was starting to cry.

"Now, now, Lois…" the voice began. "My name is not important. You are much more the celebrity here."

Davison glanced at the agent holding the cell phone. "Get Metro One Network on the line. Tell them to run a trace on this signal." He ordered.

The agent stood there for a moment, his eyes transfixed on the monitor.

"NOW!" Davison barked. The agent blinked, looked at him with almost pleading eyes, the turned and walked away, punching numbers into his cellular device.

"Do you know why you are here, Lois?"

"No!" she answered through tears.

"You are here to help me teach Metropolis its final lesson. You're here to help me teach Superman his final lesson."

Lois raised her head; red, teary, blood shot eyes filling with terror as she looked towards the camera.

"He has saved you before, hasn't he?"

Lois didn't respond. She just looked around the room frantically. She pulled at her restraints, leaning this way and that, pulling hard at the leather straps that held her in place.

And then the flicker came.

And again, she screamed as the electricity coursed through her body. She trashed and twitched, she cried and yelled, she clinched her eyes and gritted her teeth.

And it lasted for four seconds.

When it was over, Lois was once again slumped in the chair, the strap across her chest the only thing keeping her upright. She was crying harder now, her shoulders shuddering as she sobbed.

"Has he saved you before?" the voice asked again.

"YES!" Lois screamed.

"How many times as he saved your life, Lois?" the voice asked.

"I DON'T KNOW!" she screamed again, her voice full of terror and frustration.

"I imagine you don't keep track. But I have. He's saved you twenty-eight times. Twenty-eight times! That's quite an astounding number, Lois. It would seem you have your own personal 'Guardian Angel'. Superman seems to have made your personal safety a priority. I wonder why that is…"

Again, Lois looked towards the camera, her face full of malice. "GO TO HELL!" she shouted.

"Nevertheless," the voice continued undaunted. "We have arrived at our lesson. You, Lois, like the rest of Metropolis, have grown weak and helpless. We depend on Superman to rescue us; to fly in on crimson wings and snatch us from the jaws of death. We depend on him, instead of one another, instead of ourselves. And it is because of this, that this final lesson must be taught.

"I less than two hours…"

Agent Davison glanced at his watch, as did most of the agents in the room. It was just passed nine.

"There will be a systems crash in the reactor monitoring and core temperature control system at the Lex-Corp Hydro Nuclear Power Plant. This crash will result in a complete shutdown of nearly every electrical grid in Metropolis. The good news is that the chair you are now sitting in will loose its power. No more shocks. The bad news is that the reactor will continue its power output as normal, but the cooling systems will be disabled. If the grids are not re-established by twenty after midnight, the power buildup will generate a meltdown. The explosion will be ten times Hiroshima. The initial blast will destroy everything within a two hundred miles radius. Whoever survives the explosion will more than likely succumb to the radiation fallout to follow. Metropolis will be the world's next Chernobyl. You and I, however, will be completely safe from both the blast and the fallout. In fact, I will personally deliver both you, and myself, to the proper authorities after the dust settles and the smoke clears."

"And Superman is the only one who can stop it. How? Well, I leave that to the Man of Steel to figure out. But there is a catch: the energy source that feeds the electricity to that chair is reverse hardwired. That means that the electricity is always on, and needs power to be stopped. When the grid is cut, the power won't start immediately, but it will begin to charge, like a battery.

"If Superman restores the grid before the melt down, the charge will be released. All of it. All at once! Five hundred thousand watts. One hundred Amps."

"That would fry her to a crisp!" someone shouted.

"So… the stage is set." The voice went on. "If Superman saves Metropolis, you will die! For you to live, Metropolis must be destroyed!

"My God…" someone whispered.

"I wonder which he'll choose… What do you think, Lois? Do you think he'll save you, or the millions of others in Metropolis?"

"He'll save Metropolis!" Lois said firmly.

"We shall see." Silence then. The image of Lois looking towards the screen, tears falling from her eyes, her chest heaving with each breath, filled the screen for a long moment.

"One final question, Lois." The voice said calmly. "What is your husbands' name?"

The color drained from Lois's face. She swallowed hard and shook her head slowly.

There was another flicker of light, and Lois screamed again. She bounced and twitched and thrashed violently. She screamed and screamed.

For eight long seconds, the sound of her screams filled the break room of the MHD.

When it was over, Lois screamed her answer. "CLARK KENT! HIS NAME IS CLARK KENT!" She was crying harder and her breath was labored and ragged.

"No… that's not right." The voice replied calmly. "I'm going to ask you again."

"Please!" Lois cried. "Please… please stop! Please…"

"I want you to think hard, this time." He went on. "I'm sure you know the answer. Let's try again: What is your husband's name?"

"His name is Clark Kent!"

And again, there was the flicker of light.

Lois screamed again as the electricity raced through her body, as pain tore though her every nerve ending, as her muscles spasm uncontrollably. But this time, her scream was different.

"HIS NAME IS CLARK KENT! HIS NAME IS CLARK KENT! HIS NAME IS CLARK KENT! HIS NAME IS CLARK KENT!"

"Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT!" This from Agent Sanders. She was crying; as were many of the other agents.

For eighteen, long, agonizing seconds, Lois screamed her answer to the world.

When it was over, Lois slumped forward and didn't move. She wasn't crying, she was no longer screaming, and from as close as the viewers could tell, she didn't seem to be breathing.

Several long tense moments passes as Lois sat there unmoving; un-breathing.

There was another flicker and Lois shoot up in her seat again. She screamed for a second, and then slumped forward again. This time, she sucked in a deep breath and began crying once again.

"His name is Clark Kent… His name is Clark Kent… His name is Clark Kent… His name is Clark Kent…" She repeated the statement over and over, her voice little more than a whisper. She spoke the words, and she cried; her body twitching uncontrollably every few moments.

And Metropolis watched.

After a few moments, the screen went dark. A second later, the game was back on.

The sound of the game was the only sound in the MHD break-room. Agent Sanders had her hand over her mouth and was sobbing silently. A few of the male agents were wiping their eyes as well, and looking around at each other. One agent raised a napkin to his nose and blew.

The first voice to break the silence was that of Agent Davison.

"We are going to assume that anyone watching a television set just saw what we saw. That means for the next…" he looked at his watch. "Two hours and forty-six minutes, over two million people are going to be trying their best to get the hell out of this city. Morales, Roberts, Anderson, Griffin: you're on evacuation! Contact the mayor's office, the National Guard, and MPD! Coordinate all efforts on securing and maintain a one way path out of this city, hospitals first. Berkins and Patterson, I want you to contact every local television and radio station. Priority one is providing evacuation information to the masses. Stress "calmly" and "orderly". We all know that is going to be chaos and pandemonium out there, but we still need to make the effort! Priority two is tracing that broadcast! I want to know where that signal came from, and I mean yesterday!"

"Simons, Lawrence, Evers; I want you at Lex-Corp Hydro Nuclear. Contact MPD and have that place locked down. I want every employee, security guard, and grounds keepers placed in protective custody, and transported off that island. After that: no one in or out! The exception is the technicians and the physicists! Anyone who can find the problem before it happens or fix it within that twenty minute window stays! Contact Metropolis University; grab any scientist they have with an I.Q. over 130! Our boy is smart, but maybe we'll get lucky and nab someone smarter!"

He looked around the room at all the agents; men and women he had worked with for months, and in some cases, years.

"It's going to be bad out there, people…" he began. "Make no mistake about it. Panic, chaos, anarchy, rioting, looting… you name it. And at midnight, if the lights go out, it's going to get worse. Twenty minutes after that, if the lights haven't come back on by then… then the lights aren't ever coming back on in Metropolis." He was quiet for a moment, allowing his words a chance to sink in. "There is going to be a city full of terrified people out there. That makes them dangerous to us and to their selves. It's our job to protect them and to keep them safe. It's not going to be easy, but if we wanted easy, we'd all be writing parking tickets right now! We are the Meta Human Division of the FBI. It doesn't get much tougher. We are professionals! Let's act like it! Get to work!"

And with that, the agents of the MHD fanned out, fueled by purpose and intent.

"Sanders." Agent Davison said over the rise of commotion that and began to grow around him. "You're with me!"

He started walking towards the exit.

Sanders wiped her eyes and fell into step behind him.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"We're going to go find the person who may be able to help us figure out what the hell is going on." He answered. "We're going to find Clark Kent!"


	30. Chapter 30

Agent Davison knew things were going to get bad, but he didn't realize how fast.

The streets of Metropolis were in chaos!

Cars were racing through the streets at life threatening speeds, only to crash into one another, making a traffic nightmare even worse. People fled their wrecked vehicles and took to the streets on foot, clutching their belongings tightly, running as fast as they could down the crowded roads.

Already the looting had begun. Store fronts were broken in; everyone from young teens to the elderly climbed in and out of their dark interiors, carrying everything from electronics, to clothes, to gallon and 24pack cases of water; to medications and first aid supplies.

A store owner was standing in front of his store with a shotgun in hand, waving it nervously back and forth as a small group threatened to rush him and overtake him. A quick blast into the air showed that he meant business and sent his would be attackers and looters fleeing.

And Agent Davison watched it all from the passenger side of the large black SUV.

Agent Sanders was behind the wheel, navigating cautiously along the opposite side of Metro Parkway. The red and blue lights danced off the cars they passed, the buildings that stood abandoned and forgotten, and the faces full of fear and terror, despair and uncertainty.

They were headed towards Midtown; 1938 June Street to be exact. Clark Kent was easy enough to find in the Metropolis Department of Motor Vehicles database. Agent Davison's also ran his name through the MPD's database, with unusual results; he didn't find a thing. Not so much as a parking ticket. Clark Kent had no criminal record. Had never received a ticket, paid his taxes on time like clockwork, and appeared to be, by all standards, a model citizen.

That alone made Davison nervous. This man, this Clark Kent, had grown up in a small mid-western town of Smallville, Kansas; graduated high school, and then simply disappeared completely from the grid. For nearly the next six years, Clark Kent seemed to have fallen off the planet! No reissued Drivers Licenses, Identification Cards, known address, Social Security records or tax filings; not even so much as a library card.

And then, "poof", like magic, he reappears and lands a job at the Daily Planet as a staff reporter, gets a Drivers License, and apartment, and a life. A few years later, he and Lois Lane file for a marriage license, they get hitched, and live happily ever after. At least until his budding bride lands on every television channel from here to Katmandu, getting tortured by a psychotic lunatic who's resume includes blowing up a ferry full of people and a school bus.

So far, all attempts to contact Mr. Kent had been in vain. They tried his home line repeatedly, only to leave numerous messages on the answering machine. They called his job and were told he left work early the day before and hadn't returned since. They tried his cell phone, only to leave more urgent messages. They could only hope he would still be home and not scrambling through the chaotic city streets.

Yes, Agent Davison decided; there was more to Mr. Clark Kent than he let on. The only question was "how much more"?

"Sir?" Sanders broke the silence.

"What's on your mind, Sanders?" he answered, not looking at her.

"Back at the office, sir… I'm sorry…"

"Sorry for what?" he asked, although he knew the answer.

"I kinda lost it in there," she admitted. "Seeing that woman tortured like that… the pain she was in… I… I just couldn't handle it. But I want you to know that it won't happen again, sir."

Agent Davison sighed. He sat up straight in his seat and looked at her evenly.

"Agent Sanders, I want you to listen to me very carefully;" he began. The other agent tensed slightly in her seat and struggled with the decision of which was more important at the moment; looking at the road, or the man sitting beside her.

The road won… but not by much.

"The day seeing something like that doesn't affect you, even if it's just a little, is the day your off this team. Do you understand me?"

Sanders glanced at him, her face and eyes full of confusion. "Sir?"

Agent Davison turned back towards the window. A small boy was standing alone on the street. He was crying. Two men ran past him, neither far out of their teens, and both looking like they were already well acquainted with the judicial system. One of the men looked back and gestured towards the other. They stopped and approached the small boy slowly.

The younger looking of the two placed a gentle hand on the boys shoulder and knelt beside him. The boy immediately turned into him and cried against his chest. The man lifted the boy in his arms and they three of them continued on up the street.

Agent Davison let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"You know why I joined the MHD?" he asked softly.

"No, sir." Sanders answered.

Davison was silent for a long moment before he answered. "I was a rookie agent. My partner and I had chased a serial murder suspect into this ratty, run down strip mall. Our guy was fond of fire. Seven girls over three years; each one between five two and five four, seventeen or eighteen years old; brown hair, brown eyes. All of them had that 'girl next door' look. They were all found burnt beyond recognition. We had to use dental records, and in one case, DNA, to identify one of the vics. Forensics couldn't figure out what kind of substance this guy was using. It wasn't gasoline, wasn't an explosive, wasn't napalm, wasn't white phosphorus. It was something they had never seen before…

"Anyway, we had the guy cornered, and my partner goes in first. And as soon as he turns the corner, a ball of fire blows out the door and knocks me through a wall. My partner caught the full force of the blast. There wasn't enough left of him to fill an ashtray."

Agent Sanders glanced at him again. Davison continued to stare out the window.

"Turns out; our man was a pyrokenetic. He could create and manipulate fire with his mind. And our man wasn't a man… he was a seventeen year old boy. The victims had all been girls he was trying to score with. Maybe they said 'no' and he lost his temper. Maybe they said 'yes' and he lost control…"

Silence again, long and deep. Only the distant sounds of a terrified city floated through the SUV's dark interior. Screams, cries for help, gunshots, fire alarms…

"I signed up for the MHD right after. I realized that the world was changing. The rules were changing. We're not fighting men with guns and knives and bombs anymore. We're fighting people who can bench press trucks, and run faster than the speed of sound, people who can fly, people made out of metal, people from other planets and different dimensions. People who can kill you by just thinking it. People who can scream so loud your brain turns to jelly and your insides explode. People who can make your worst nightmares come true. We're fighting against real monsters.

"And the only difference between us and them is this." He pointed to his chest.

"Powers don't make you a monster, Sanders. It's losing your heart. It's losing touch with those around you… those without any powers. Once that happens, once you can't connect with them, can't feel their pain or their suffering… that's when their lives mean nothing to you. Nothing at all. And that's when you become a monster. The kid, he had every chance to turn himself in, to find help, after the first girl. But he didn't. Not after the first, not after the seventh. He thought his powers placed him above the law. He lost touch with his humanity.

"What we saw in there was tough to watch. You cried because you felt that woman's pain. That's not something you should apologize for. It means you were in touch with her humanity. Don't lose that. Ever! If you do, Agent Sanders, and you will no longer have a place on the MHD. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." She answered. "I understand completely."

"Good." Davison responded, and was silent again.

"Sir?" Sanders said after a long moment.

"Yeah?"

"The broadcast… it didn't seem to affect you… I mean… you didn't really show any emotion…"

"Not showing emotion is not the same as not having any."

"I realize that, sir. But… I was just wondering… How do you do it? How do you stay so focused and level headed when everything around you is going to hell in a hand basket?"

"Serenity Prayer." He answered simply.

"Excuse me?"

He sighed. "Lord, Give me the strength to change the things I can, the patience to accept the things I cannot…"

"And the wisdom to know the difference." Sander finished.

Davison looked at her. "There are only two types of problems in this world, Agent; the ones you can change and the ones you can't. There was nothing we could do for Mrs. Lane at that moment. But we could start working on getting there. You focus on that, on the task at hand, and you work on the things you can change and maybe, just maybe, you'll get a chance to work on the things you thought you can't." He looked back out the window.

The SUV made a left, then a right, and three blocks later, another left. It stopped finally in front of the large high-rise building. Two MPD squad cars were already parked along the curb, a total of three uniformed officers and one detective were standing outside the building, waiting for the two agents to arrive.

Sander parked and turned of the ignition.

"Sir?"

Agent Davison turned and looked at her.

"What happened to the boy? The pyrokenetic?"

Agent Davison regarded her carefully, then turned towards his door and pulled on the handle.

"I killed him." He answered as he climbed out and closed the door behind him.

"Is he in there?" Agent Davison asked as he approached the other men.

"We've watched a few people leave, but as far as we can tell, he wasn't one of them. He could have skipped out before we arrived, but there's no way to tell." The detective answered. "If he's in there, he's in there."

"Alright… we go up!" Davison began. "But I want to be clear on this; this guy probably just saw his wife being tortured on national television. I don't even want to imagine what that does to a man, but the last thing we want to do is let our guard down in there."

"You saying he's a suspect?" the detective asked.

"I'm saying that his wife was just feed what looked like enough volts to light a few dozen Christmas trees and maybe he saw it. If he did, he hasn't made any attempt to contact the authorities for help, hasn't answered his phone, and if he's home, hasn't made any attempt to flee a city that may just go 'boom' in a couple hours!"

"Speaking of which…" one of the uniforms asked. "How much time are we planning on spending up there with this guy?"

Agent Davison looked at him… hard. "Officer…?"

"McNeal." The man answered.

"Officer McNeal." Agent Davison said in an even tone. "Consider yourself relieved. The rest of you, follow me."

And, mouth open and speechless, Officer McNeal watched them enter the building.

Unit 1221 was in the southeast corner of the building. The layout of the building was such that each floor had a no more than six units on each. The twelfth floor was no exception.

The elevator doors opened into a large oval space. The hall was well lit by recessed cans in the ceiling spaced roughly eight feet apart. The light played will off the cream colored walls with gold and silver accents. The wall to the left was home to a small round table, a small plant sat atop it. A large mirror hung above it. To the right was a large floor plant that was fake, but of high quality.

Agent Davison and Agent Sanders stepped out first, followed by the detective, and then the uniforms. The floor was covered with a rich tan colored carpet that made Agent Davison wonder how much a unit in this building went for. Not to mention what the Association Dues must be. He imagined the carpet was vacuumed daily and shampooed once a month, if not more. The oval space opened up in to a hallway that lead both to the left and the right.

Unit 1223 was directly in front of them, two large, ornate cherry wood doors with a square brass numbered plaque centered on the door to the right. To either side of the doors were larger plaques, the one on the left read "1221, 1225" with an arrow pointing left, the one on the right read "1222, 1224, 1226" with an arrow pointing right.

Agent Davison went left. The others followed.

Unit 1221 was at the end of the hall; a dead end of two cherry wood doors with its own numbered brass plaque.

Davison knocked on the door.

"Mr. Kent!? This is Agent Davison of the FBI, Meta Humans Division! We'd like to ask you some questions!"

There was no answer.

He knocked again, twice as hard. The large double doors shook slightly.

"MR. KENT!?" he shouted. "If you're in there, please let us in! We need to talk to you about your wife, Lois Lane…"

And again… there was only silence.

"Maybe we missed him…" one of the uniforms said. "Guys probably half way to Gotham by now."

There was a sound from the other side of the door then, faint and distant… The sound of glass breaking…

Agent Davison drew his gun. The others followed suit. He crouched low and to the left of the door, Agent Sanders went to the right side. The detective and uniforms took up flanking positions behind him.

The two agents exchanged glances. Sanders nodded, signaling she was ready. Davison nodded back.

He took a deep breath, raised his leg and kicked as hard as he could at the space between the two doors.

The lock broke, the wood splintered, and the door swung in, the two agents swinging in with it, the weapon of one agent sweeping high, the other sweeping low.

The apartment was dim, a small table lamp the only light. A figure was kneeling on the floor in the space between the coffee table and the wall. A flat screen television was mounted on the wall above the figure; its screen smashed and broken, a statue of some kind sticking out its center. Shards of glass sprinkled the carpeted floor below.

The two agents stepped cautiously towards the figure and took up station on either side of the kneeling figure, their weapons aimed at the back of its head. Agent Davison motioned to the detective and the uniforms. And without a word, they quickly fanned out to check the rest of the unit.

"Mr. Kent?" Davison said softly as he approached.

He knelt there, his shoulders slumped forward, the blue collard shirt spread wide over a muscular back… a back that shuddered now as Davison heard the tell tale signs of sobbing.

"Mr. Kent…" he said again, his voice soft and clear. "I'm Special Agent Davison of the FBI's Meta Human Division. This is my partner, Agent Sanders. We are here to help you, Mr. Kent, but you need to show me your hands."

And then, the faintest of moans escapes the lips of the kneeling figure. He raised his hands into the air slowly as he cried, his body shaking with each sob.

The tension drained a little from Agent Davison as he realized that the man before him held no weapons. The two uniforms and the detective returned to the living room, weapons still drawn, and shook their heads at Davison. There was no one in the unit besides them.

"Please…" the figure said softly, his face turning towards him.

Agent Davison looked down at the man; his black hair desperate for a trim and tossed about his head almost bang-like. His deep blue eyes; red and swollen and puffy with tears, partially hidden behind his thick, round glasses; his lips quivering as even now he tried to speak in a voice that seemed to fail him…

"Please…" Clark Kent said softly, his pleading eyes fixed on Agent Davison's own brown orbs. "Please help me find my Lois. Help me find my wife."


	31. Chapter 31

Clark was sitting on the couch, shaking slightly. Agent Davison was seated in one of the two arm chairs that flanked the couch. Agent Sanders had sat next to Clark; hoping a female presence would ease his tension, if only a little. It didn't.

The detective had taken up residence behind the couch, leaning against the far wall. One officer was posted at the front door; the broken lock made it impossible for the door to close completely. The other was standing at the sliding glass door that led to the balcony. The drapes were pulled back, the large glass sliding-door was half open, and the view was spectacular. The lower eastside stretched out before him; a skyline full of towering buildings set against the backdrop of the rippling surface of Metropolis Bay, and beyond that, a nearly endless vale of clear dark skies and billions of twinkling stars. A cool breeze blew into the unit. It was hard to believe that beneath all that beauty, a city was tearing itself apart.

The overhead lights, a creative curve of track lighting, had been turned on, filling the room with a bright warm glow.

Clark raised a glass of water to his lips with a shaky hand. He finally had to use both hands to control the shaking and keep the water from spilling to the floor. As it was, he was barely able to sip any.

"Mr. Kent…" Davison said softly.

Clark looked at him over the top of his glasses. "I apologize, Agent…"

"Davison. And we completely understand. Seeing your wife like that couldn't have been easy."

"It was on every channel! All of them!" Clark said softly. "Everyone saw what he did to her! The way she screamed… and then…" Clark lowered his head and began to cry again softly. "She… she stopped breathing…"

Sanders placed a hand on his back and rubbed in soft small circles.

The room was silent, save for the sounds of Clarks' gentle sobs. Sanders looked at Davison with compassionate eyes. A few moments more and she may have started crying as well. Davison wanted to be polite, wanted to be patient… but they were running out of time…

"Mr. Kent." He said again, sitting forward in his chair. "I can't imagine how you must feel right now, and I want you to know that we are going to do everything we can to find your wife. Even now, we have agents at all the local cable stations trying to track the source of the transmissions. Mr. Kent…"

And Clark looked up at him again.

"We. Will. Find. Her!" Agent Davison emphasized. "But we need your help!"

Clark looked from him, to the agent seated beside him. He seemed to regain much of his composer then. He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeves, ran his hand through his hair, scooted back on the couch, and took a deep breath. He then looked at Agent Davison, his eyes filled with fresh resolve.

"What can I do?" he asked.

Davison licked his lips slightly and inched forward a bit. "First," he began. "I need you to think of anyone that your wife has dealt with in the past; anyone from an old boyfriend to someone she pissed of in an article, someone that may have the resources and the know how to do something like this."

Clarks' eyes danced around the room. "I can't think of any old boyfriends, but the list of people she's upset with her articles is a long one. Local crime bosses, corrupt politicians, crooked business men… you name it. But I can't think of anyone with the ability to do something on this large a scale."

"Mr. Kent," Davison urged. "Who ever is behind this went through a lot of trouble to make a lot of public statements! At first, we thought it was something between just him and Superman. But then he drags Lois Lane into it. We need to understand why. Not to mention why he was so interested in who she was married to."

"I don't know," Clark said, his resolve fading slightly. "I don't know who he is, or why he's doing this to her…"

"Let's start at the beginning." this from Agent Sanders. She gave a quick glance to Davison, who seemed to ease back a little. Sanders took the gesture as permission to continue. "When was the last time you saw your wife, Mr. Kent?"

Clark hesitated. "A few days ago; I dropped her off at the airport. She was invited to the Stangin Research facility in Antarctica." he said softly.

"The Stangin Research facility?" Davison asked. Clark nodded gently. "The one the exploded and took a small portion of the continent along with it!?" Again, Clark nodded solemnly.

"I was devastated when I heard." Clark continued. "I came home and turned on the news. I didn't know what else to do or who to call. I was just waiting for them to say something; to tell me that they found her… that she was okay… that she was coming home to me!"

Clark lifted his glasses slightly and rubbed his eyes. The room was silent again for a moment.

"I didn't know what else to do…" he repeated, replacing his glasses. "I haven't moved since. I just watched the news coverage of the explosion… and then that… that video cut in."

And suddenly, Clark was on his feet, pacing through the apartment, waves of anger and rage flowing from him.

"Do you have any idea what it feels like to find out that the person you love the most in the world, the person who, for the last sixteen hours, you thought was dead, is alive! And then to watch them get tortured mercilessly! To watch them… nearly… die… again?!"

Clark stopped pacing and began trembling slightly. He rounded on Agent Davison then. "We need to find her!" he shouted.

Agent Davison was on his feet then, his hands raised in front of him defensively, backing away slightly. "Calm down, Mr. Kent." He said calmly. "I understand how you feel but we need to focus…"

"Focus on what?!" Clark shouted. He was fuming. Everyone was looking at him. Agent Sanders was on her feet and moving forward slowly. The two uniforms moved a little further into the room. The detective's right hand hovered close to his firearm. "We're wasting time! The power plant is going to meltdown and the city's going to be destroyed! And if Superman saves the city… then Lois… Lois… is going to die!"

"I'm not going to let that happen!" a voice said, loud and clear.

Every head turned. And there, in the open doorway of the balcony, stood Superman.


	32. Chapter 32

_Forty-two minutes ago..._

Superman's eyes opened slowly. The sun above him was full and shined brightly. So brightly, in fact, it seemed as if it was only a few feet in front of him.

He sat up slowly, his head swimming slightly. His torso was bare; his exposed skin tingling slightly.

"I'd tell you to lie back down, but you're not going to listen." The deep, gravely, familiar voice said simply.

Superman blinked against the shining light, realizing that it was, in fact, a large UV lamp, specifically designed to bombard Superman with "yellow" sun rays.

He was sitting atop a large raised slap, composed of a smooth crystal-like substance; the same substance the rest of the Fortress of Solitude was constructed of. And he instantly realized that's were he was.

The vast structure was located deep in the heart of the Arctic Circle. It was made entirely out of a type of symbiotic crystal that was native to Superman's home world of Krypton. The planets entire civilization was based on the manipulation of these crystals, which could be molded to fit any purpose or function, and took on the properties of the materials it was bonded to. The fortress itself, a structure that covered more than eighteen acres of arctic wilderness, was initially formed from a single sliver of crystal the length and size of large tube of toothpaste.

Since its inception, Superman had introduced numerous elements into the Fortress, including a green house that held nearly every form of plant life known to man, and a few dozen that were not; an integrated computer system that had since evolved into a near sentient AI; a shrine dedicated to the memory and history of the long dead world of Krypton; a gallery filled with wondrous artifacts from around the universe, including an entire city that sat inside a glass capsule the size of a large cake holder; and a wildlife enclosure that was home to numerous creatures not native to this part of the galaxy.

He swung his legs over the edge, and floated off the side to the floor.

Batman was standing with his back to him at the far end of the chamber. He was wearing his full costume, mask and all. Superman had once joked that Bruce Wayne was the mask and Batman was the face behind it. As he made his way across the space to his friend and ally, he wondered for a second how close to home his jab had actually struck.

Batman was busy examining readouts displayed on a monitor made from what appeared to be a flat, smooth, wide sheet of crystal; one about the size a large computer monitor, but shaped more like a trapezoid than a rectangle.

"How long have I been out?" Superman asked as he approached him. He stretched his arms wide and messaged the back of his neck.

"Almost sixteen hours." Batman answered; his focus still on the crystalline monitor. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Superman's brow furrowed. "I was in Antarctica. The Stangin Research Facility. It exploded… Lois!"

"She's alive." Batman said calmly.

"She is!" Superman beamed. "Great! Where is she? Were there any other survivors?"

Batman was silent for a moment. "Everyone at the Stangin Research facility is presumed dead."

Superman frowned. "I don't understand. You just said Lois was alive."

"She is." Batman answered. "The area is saturated with radiation. Kryptonite radiation. The affected area is just under a hundred mile radius. The local eco system is nearly completely destroyed. Arthur, Aquaman, is doing what he can for the sea life in the area. Green Lantern is trying to minimize the radiation exposure. He was the one that found you. He brought you here and started your UV treatment. I got here about an hour ago."

"I never felt anything like that…" Superman admitted. "One second, I was fine. I was using my X-ray vision to search for Lois. I saw the first of the bodies… and then… It was like I jumped in to a pool full of liquid kryptonite. All my powers, all my energy… it was just gone."

"Stangin was working on a form of cold fusion that utilized the unique properties found in kryptonite." Batman explained. "I have been following his work for years. If it worked, it would have been able to provide the world with a nearly limitless source of energy. Apparently … it didn't. Or it did, and someone threw a monkey wrench into the works… either way…"

"What happened to Lois?" Superman asked, his face serious, he features dark.

Batman faced him for the first time.

"There's something you need to see." He said plainly. "But I need you to hear what I have to tell you afterwards. It's very important that you don't fly off as soon as you see this. Millions of lives depend on it."

"Stop playing games, Bruce." Superman urged. "I need to see Lois."

If Batman sighed, he made no sound and didn't move an inch. "This may be… difficult… for you."

Superman gave him a hard look.

"Computer!" Batman said aloud. There was a sound like wind chimes on a breezy day. "Playback video."

The crystalline monitor flashed to life, but instead of displaying the image on its smooth surface, it projected it into the air before them.

Superman looked up at the small woman seated in the metallic chair, her black hair, wet and stringy and covering her face. But he knew her instantly. Her name fell from his lips in a whisper.

"Lois…"

And the entire scene played out before him. He watched silently. He watched her body spasm with electricity. He listened to her screams of pain, her pleas for mercy, and her shouts of defiance. He listened to the distorted voice explain Metropolis' peril. And finally, he listened to Lois Lane, the love of his life, his heart and soul; scream the name of his secret identity over and over and over.

And then, he watched her body, still and calm and unmoving; watched as the long moments ticked by silently; watched as a final jolt of current resuscitated her. And he listened still as, barely conscious and half alive; she continued to whisper her husbands' name.

And then it was over.

Batman had never taken his eyes off Superman. He watched the expressions wash over his face like waves; the confusion, the shock, the horror, the terror, the pain, the empathy, the tears, and finally… the rage.

Superman's eyes were red with the fire of his heat vision. His lips were tight, his nostrils flared as he breathed.

"Where?" he asked simply.

"I uploaded a trace program into your computer. But it's strange; the signal is being relayed through nearly every satellite network there is. Whoever sent this broadcast covered their tracks. I added a logic based 'sniffer' program to your computer's AI to help. It'll find the source, but it'll take time."

"How long?" Superman asked.

"Two hours, maybe." Batman answered. "The video was feed into every network stream around the world almost forty minutes ago. That leaves the tracer with about a twenty minute cushion before whatever is supposed to happen, happens. It'll be close, but we should be able to locate Lois before the rector goes. But there's something else…"

Superman wasn't listening. He made his way back to the large raised slab. He found his top and cape laying there.

"I told you, you need to here this." Batman urged. He didn't follow him. When you're talking to someone with super-hearing, you didn't need to follow them through the room to make sure you were heard.

"I can find her before the trace program." Superman said evenly.

"No. You can't." Batman explained. "She could be anywhere in the world, Clark. Anywhere! You would have to fly at your top speed to cover every inch of the planet in time. And that's just the surface area. Caves, underground bunkers, mines, submarines, undersea complexes. Even with your x-ray vision, you would miss something at that speed."

"I have to try! I have to find her!"

"And what about Metropolis?" What about the other two point eight million people out there?" Batman asked.

Superman had already pulled on his top, the triangulated "S" covering his heaving chest. He was now tucking the cape into his neckline.

"Whatever's happening at the plant, the others can handle it." He answered.

"There is no one else." Batman said calmly. "Green Lantern has his hands full in Antarctica. If he abandons what he's doing, it may upset the ecological balance of the entire planet. Diana is strong and near invulnerable, but she can't handle the radiation levels that a potential meltdown would generate. Neither would Flash. Neither would I."

"If I save the city, she dies."

"And if you don't, millions will."

Superman moved in a blur of speed that even Batman didn't anticipate. One second, he was standing at the far end of the chamber, over twenty yards away; the next, he was holding Batman a foot off the ground with one hand tightly gripping the front of Batman armored costume.

"Do you expect me to let her die!?" Superman roared, tears beginning to flow from beneath the crimson flares in his eyes.

"I expect you to listen." Batman answered; his voice perfectly calm as he spoke.

Superman blinked once, twice; realizing what he was doing, and quickly regained his composure. He gently lowered Batman to the crystalline floor and pulled his hand away slowly.

"Bruce…" he said softly, the fire in his eyes fading. "I-I'm sorry…"

Batman didn't respond. He just took a cautious step back.

Superman took a few staggered steps backwards and wound up leaning against a crystalline pillar. He looked at the dark clad figure across from him with pleading eyes. "Bruce…" he whispered. "She's my wife. I can't lose her."

"Maybe you won't have to." Batman began. "But you have to consider the facts. First, we have to assume Lois arrived at the Stangin Research facility. If she failed to make any of the connections between Metropolis and there, it would have raised a few red flags. Since there were none, we know she was there. This video tells us that she's still alive. Which means at some point she left the facility, and obviously, before it exploded. Based on her current state, I'm willing to bet it wasn't alone. I'm also fairly certain that whoever abducted her was behind the explosion at the facility."

"How can you be so sure?" Superman asked.

"The bombs." Batman answered. "I peeked at the forensic reports from the MHD databanks. Both devices left the same faint traces of radiation. The remaining fragments were identical in design, the casings on both were made from Depleted Promethium, and spectral analysis showed traces of "Inth Metal". I did some projections, and given the right combination of elements and conditions, the Inth Metal could cause a burst that would be similar to a nuclear explosion, while the Depleted Promethium could both contain and proportionately distribute the blast. But the math would have to be flawless. Only someone with a very strong knowledge of nuclear physics and nuclear engineering could create something so radical."

"The last time I talked to Lois," Superman added. "She said that the list of people with her was a who's who of nuclear scientist and physicists. It could have been any one of them."

"True." Batman agreed. "I tried pulling up a list of the invitations that were sent out. And I couldn't find anything. All the travel logs, ships register, airplane passenger logs, everything pertaining to travel to or from the Institute had been pulled."

"So we have no way of knowing who has Lois?"

"Maybe. But nothing is every truly deleted. It's just a matter of knowing where to look…"

"Then we're wasting time." Superman said, pushing away from the wall and making for the chamber exit.

"Think Clark." Batman called after him. "Think about everything that has happened. Think about the treats. Think about the targets. Think about what he wants to accomplish."

"He wants to turn the world against me."

"But why?"

"I don't know!" Superman answered; the frustration apparent in his voice. "Maybe I sent him to jail! Maybe I failed him somehow! Maybe he just woke up and decided the world would be better off!"

"It's a revenge ploy, pure and simple. You just need to understand what he wants revenge for. Why you? Why Lois? Why Metropolis? And why did he ask about Clark Kent?"

Superman blinked. It had escaped him that the man had specifically asked Lois about her husband. And not once… but twice.

"You think he knows?" Superman asked.

"He seemed convinced Lois was lying when she said her husbands name Clark Kent."

"But how?" Superman asked.

"We'll figure that part out later." Batman urged. "But if I were you, I'd be more concern with what that means for Clark Kent."

"What do you mean?"

Batman made his way back over to the computer bank with the crystalline monitor. "Clark Kent's wife just appeared on every television in the world, being tortured by a man prepared to destroy Metropolis by nuclear meltdown. If I was any kind of detective, the first person I'd want to talk to is Clark Kent."

"And when I show up missing, they may think I have something to do with all this." Superman added.

"You won't be missing." Batman explained.

Superman thought for a moment. True, he had robotic double gangers that he used in the past to imitate his other persona when suspicion arose. The ploy had worked before, but considering the time constraint, Superman doubted it was the case.

"J'onn?" he asked. Batman didn't answer. Superman took his silence as a "yes".

"I'll stop by the apartment on my way to the Power plant…" Superman stated.

"Good to see you got your priorities in order." Batman added.

A wave of anger washed over Superman again. "Go to hell, Bruce!" Superman spit. "Maybe if you ever let someone into your heart, you'd know what this feels like. You'd know what it's like to have to choose between saving someone you care about or losing them forever…"

And as soon as the words left his mouth, Superman wished with all his heart he could take them back.

Batman went very, very still. "You're right…" he said coldly. "I have _no_ idea what that's like."

Superman opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "Bruce…"

"Don't!" Batman answered sharply.

Superman cursed himself. He realized then that once some things were said, they could never be unsaid.

And again, he turned to leave.

"He specifically called you out." Batman called after him. "If it's a trap, you should prepare accordingly. And Clark…"

Superman stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

"If I had to choose between someone I care for, and the lives of millions of innocents… the choice would be obvious… but it wouldn't be easy."

Superman nodded slightly. He levitated a few feet into that air, and finally, he flew out of the chamber, out of the Fortress of Solitude, and into the darkness.

Batman remained at the computer terminal, his fingers skillfully entering command after command, the keys chiming softly with every press.

Saving Metropolis was a job for Superman.

Saving Lois Lane… well… Batman could only hope he had time to handle that task himself.


	33. Chapter 33

"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!" Clark roared.

He was across the room and pounding on Superman's chest before any of the agents or officers had time to react.

One hand was around Superman's throat, squeezing; and the other was pounding his broad chest. The blows landed harmlessly against Superman's invulnerable exterior, but he was no less taken off guard by the attack.

" _J'onn!_ " Superman shouted in his mind. " _What are you doing!?_ "

J'onn J'onnz, the Martian Manhunter, was a being of amazing ability. Once believed to be the last remaining Martian, J'onn was brought to Earth accidentally by the beams of an experimental teleporter developed by one Dr. Saul Erdals, who died in the resulting blast of energy the teleporter emitted. He used his telepathic abilities to ease the mans passing, and his ability to shape-shift too blend in with the rest of humanity. Since, he has used his awesome powers, which include super-strength, near invulnerability, the ability to turn his entire body invisible and intangible, and his ability of flight, to fight alongside Earths greatest heroes in the Justice League.

" _My apologies, Superman._ " he whispered telepathically to his ally. Verbally, he shouted. "That psycho is going to kill my wife because of you!" and he continued to pound away. The officers had reacted by now and were trying to pull "Clark Kent" away from Superman.

" _The agents will require information about your relationship with Lois; information I do not possess._ " J'onn explained. " _And your Kryptonian mind is difficult to penetrate under normal circumstances. Physical contact will make it easier_."

And Superman felt it; like a breeze through his mind; like the gentle caress of the softest fingers, like a whisper in the darkness…

His and Lois's entire relationship flashed through his mind. The first time he saw her inside the offices of the Daily Planet. The years spent as her friend, watching her infatuation with Superman grow more and more, just as his infatuation for her grew equally; their first kiss: Lois in the arms of Superman. Their love growing with every encounter; the day Superman revealed the truth of his secret identity; the look on Lois' face. Their first kiss again: Lois in the arms of Clark Kent. Their wedding day! The joy Clark felt as he looked at his wife… The years of happiness since…

And just like that, it was over.

Agent Davison was pulling Clark away from Superman with the aid of a uniformed officer, and the detective.

" _I have what I need_." J'onn's voice whispered through Superman's mind. " _And I only saw what I needed to see._ " He assured him.

Verbally: "Why can't you just leave us alone!? She's my wife! She's my wife and she's going to die because of you!"

The words hit Superman like a punch to the gut.

" _Again… I apologize_." J'onn mentally whispered. " _But the charade must be convincing. I feel your inner turmoil over the situation, but you know what must be done. The needs of the many-_ "

"Mr. Kent…" Superman said aloud. He moved a little further into the room slowly. "I can't imagine what you must be going through, and I apologize for any part I had to play in this, but I promise you that saving Lois Lane-Kent is very important to me."

"As it is to us." Agent Davison stepped in. "That's why while Superman is dealing with the reactor at the plant…" he glanced at Superman then, giving him a look that was filled more with instructions than questions. "We are going to be doing everything we can to find her. But we're running out of time…" He was looking back at Clark now. "We need to know if there's anything else you can remember… Anything at all."

" _How much do I share?_ " J'onn asked mentally.

" _As much as necessary._ " Superman answered.

"I dropped her off at the airport." Clark explained. "She had a connecting flight from Miami to Australia, then another to Antarctica. She called me from a small airstrip south if the Ronne Ice Shelf. She was about to board a helicopter. It was going to take her to the facility from there. That was the last time I spoke to her. But I know she made it to the Facility. And since she's still alive after the facility was destroyed…"

"Than whoever has her had to be there as well!" Davison registered. He pointed at Sanders, who was already pulling out her cell phone and moving towards the kitchen.

"I'm on it!" she said, already dialing.

Superman remained silent. He knew they wouldn't find much information, but he didn't want to dash their hopes… or his own. After all, many hands working towards a common goal…

"Mr. Kent..." Davison began. "I'm going to take you into protective custody. I want you to accompany these officers…" he gestured towards the uniforms. "They are going to get you outside the city and to a safe location…"

"What about Lois!?" Clark asked, near frantic.

"We are going to find her, Mr. Kent." Davison urged. "But first we have to get you to safety."

Clark looked at the agent for a moment, and then his eyes fell on Superman.

" _I wish to assist you, but if Clark Kent suddenly disappears…_ " J'onn' telepathic voice whispered.

" _Go with them, J'onn._ " Superman answered mentally. " _You'll do more good there._ "

"As _soon as I get the opportunity,_ " J'onn offered. " _I will try to search for her telepathically. With any luck…_ "

"Again…" Superman said aloud. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Kent. But I promise you; I will do everything in my power to find… your wife."

Clark looked at Superman for a long moment in silence, both verbal and mental.

"Do what you can for the city." Clark said at last. " _Let us hope that no one will be sacrificed for your heroics_ " J'onn added mentally.

Clark let the uniformed officers lead him out of the apartment. The detective followed.

When he was gone, Agent Davison was left alone looking intently at Superman. "Anything I should know?" he asked.

"About what?" Superman asked.

Agent Davison gave him a look reserved for small children when they ask silly questions. "The man wrapped his hands around your neck." He said matter-of-factly. "It took three of us to pull him off you!"

Superman gave the agent an angry look. "His… wife is being held hostage and her life is being threatened by some mad man with a grudge against me. He's racked with emotion. I'm sure he was just lashing out."

Agent Davison looked at him for a long moment; looked at him as if he was only just starting to really see him.

Agent Sanders entered the room, sliding her cell phone into her pocket as she approached. "Nothing." She said with more than a hint of frustration in her voice. "I have Walker working on it in the mobile command center, but as of now, we've got nothing! I worked backwards from the airport in Australia, the private charter was booked from there to the Facility, but the bird never returned. Meanwhile, all passenger manifests have mysteriously vanished off their computers. Everything under a week old has vanished! Same for all flights into Australia since it's the launch pad to the Antarctic. We've got no records of anyone coming or going for the last six days! Walkers the best computer man we have… but even he says it's going to take time, and that's if he finds anything at all. Looks like we're back to square one."

And only then did she notice the tension between the two men left in the room. "Did I miss something?" she asked.

"No." Superman answered.

Davison was silent for another moment.

"We need to get to the power plant." He told Sanders.

"What about Lois?" Superman asked.

Davison looked at him with an eyebrow raised. "We have nothing more to go off of. We've secured Kent, and if he remembers anything important, we'll jump on it; but until then we have another crisis on our hands." He paused and looked at him for a moment. "Is there anything you want to contribute about Mrs. Lane-Kent?" Davison said the last bit with extra emphasis.

Superman gave him a long, hard look.

Davison returned it evenly.

"I'll see you at the plant." Superman said and turned towards the open window and balcony beyond.

"Yeah." Davison shot back. "I do have one question though;"

Superman paused but didn't turn around.

"Have you noticed you tend to pause when you refer to Lois as Clark Kent's… wife." He poked.

Again, Superman didn't turn around. He took two strides out the door and took to the air silently.

"What the hell was that about?" Sanders asked.

"Nothing." Davison answered; his eyes full of the open balcony door. "Let's go."

And they went.

"Hey…" Sanders started as they entered the hall. "Is it me… or does Clark kinda look like Superman, with his hair tossed and glasses on?"

Davison seemed to consider it for a moment. "It's just you." He answered simply.


	34. Chapter 34

Superman circled the plant three times, scanning it with his x-ray vision. The good news: of the fifteen thousand plus employees, Superman counted only seven remaining, all of which were located in one of the plants lower levels. The bad news: due to the radiation shielding and lead plating, nearly forty percent of the plant was inaccessible to his X-ray vision.

That meant that there could be more employees scattered throughout the plant.

Superman made one final sweep. He hated lead. And this plant had entire sections the seemed to be lined with the stuff. If time permitted, he vowed that he would check all the areas he could to ensure they were clear of civilians, but in the meantime, he'd have to trust that the authorities did their job and properly evacuated the plant.

He flew towards the entrance and landed their. He was greeted by a couple of uniformed officers.

"Superman." One officer said, extending his hand.

Superman shook it firmly. "Officer…" he read his name plate. "Watts."

"We got everyone out." Officer Watts explained. "All except for a few technicians. They insisted on staying. Everyone else has been placed on a bus and is currently being transported out of the city. Special Agent Davison of the MHD radioed; he's about ten minutes out."

"Good work." Superman said calmly. "You two have done your jobs. Time for you to get as far away from here as you can. No one needs to be here that doesn't need to be here."

"Thank you, sir." Officer Watts responded. The other uniform just nodded. "All the technicians are held up in the main control room. Two levels down. You'll need this security card…" He handed Superman a small plastic badge, the words Level 6 embossed diagonally across the background . On it was a headshot of an older man with thick grey hair and bushy eyebrows. The name on it read J. Shuster.

"Just follow the signs." The officer urged.

Superman nodded.

The two uniformed officers began walking towards the parking area while Superman made his way towards the large double doors heading into the plant.

"Superman!" one of the uniforms called out.

He paused and turned.

"If…" the man began. "If the plant does… you know…. Is there anything… anything you can do to save the city?"

Superman met the officer's eyes.

"Metropolis means the world to me." He said evenly. "I will do everything… and I mean 'Everything'… in my power to save it!"

The officer seemed to swell before Superman's eyes. He smiled and nodded repeatedly. Then with a gesture that was half wave, half salute, he turned and hurried towards his awaiting squad car.

Superman watched the two men climb into the vehicle and drive off over the ridge towards Metro Parkway North.

He turned and entered the plant then, his mind torn between the vow he just made and what it might mean if he kept it.

Would he put his all into saving Metropolis? Yes.

Would he be able to live with himself knowing his actions may have killed the woman he loves? Now that was the real question.

The plant was a labyrinth of winding corridors, subterranean passages, and service tunnels. Superman passed through twelve security doors on his way to the area marked "Reactor Control Room"; the words embossed on the large placards that hung on the walls in odd intervals.

As he went, he scanned the plant with his X-ray vision and listened intently to his surroundings. His scans revealed only more lead shielded areas and not much more, while his super-hearing simply amplified the ambient background noise of the plant; grinding gears, running motors, spinning turbines, high pressure water moving through large cooling systems, the ever present hum of electricity traveling along high powered lines.

And while Superman didn't know what a Nuclear Plant was supposed to sound like per say, he didn't hear anything that sounded out of the ordinary, all things considered.

He arrived at the doors to the "Reactor Control Room" and swiped his barrowed security badge. There was a "beep" and then the twin steel doors slid apart.

The room was a completely bare, save for the small group of people inside. White floor, white walls, white ceiling; each smooth and featureless. There were no desks, no chairs, no computers, no monitors, no keyboards or computer terminals. Nothing. A space sixteen feet wide, twenty feet long, and nine feet high, filled with muted white nothingness.

Superman would have sworn he was in the wrong place, had it not been for the raging argument.

"No! No! No!" a man was shouting, pacing back and forth through the open area. He was young and fresh-faced. His hair was bright red, long and curly, and draped just past his shoulders. His face was pale and sprinkled with freckles. Large black horn-rimmed glasses covered large grey-green eyes. His face was completely smooth save for a thick red soul patch on his chin. He was wearing a white lab coat over a green t-shirt with a logo Superman didn't recognize, faded blue jeans, and tennis shoes that seemed as if they may have been older than he was.

"I checked the sub-routines three times, the primary control programming five times, and the automation controls twice. I'm telling you they're clean!" he said adamantly.

"But if the virus is time released," this from a woman. "Then it wouldn't appear in any of the systems until it was too late! We have to do a complete system reset! It's the only way to be certain there are no foreign programs!" She seemed just as young and eager as the man she was arguing with. Her skin was light brown and hinted at a Hispanic origin. Her hair was cut very short and styled very masculine. Her eyes were light brown with hints of green. She was short and petit, but closer inspection showed the hints of muscle beneath the white lab coat, white blouse, tailored grey slacks and black mid-heeled boots.

"Am I interrupting?" Superman asked.

They both looked at him and then, and as if rehearsed, they both went back to their argument.

"A complete system reset!" the redhead laughed. "That would shut the plant down for at least seventy-two hours! We would have to reinstall every sub-routine, command program, security protocol, diagnostic and monitoring tool we have in place! Not to mention the time it would take to recalibrate the cooling systems, turbine ratios, and reactor settings!"

"Let's see…" the woman replied, raising her hands in a scale like manner. "Three days of reprogramming." she raised and lowered her left hand. "Total reactor meltdown and the complete destruction of a major city." she raised and then dropped her right hand. "Why are we even arguing about this?" she asked plainly.

"What exactly are you arguing about?" Superman asked.

Another man stepped towards him. He was an older man of Asian decent. His hair was grey and his eyes were dark brown. He had a thick grey mustache and a smile that seemed a mixture of pleasure and remorse. He was about five seven in height and not much more than a hundred and fifty pounds in weight. Absent was lab coat. He wore only a sky blue polo, black khaki pants, and plain black loafers.

"Superman." He said as he approached, hand extended. "I am Dr. Kevin Yamamoto, Lead Controller. It is both a pleasure and an honor to meet you, although I wish it were under different circumstances."

Superman took his hand and shook. "Mr. Yamamoto. What's going on?"

"My colleagues, Dr. Andrew Mullen," he gestured towards the red head. "And Dr. Karla Morales." He gestured towards the woman. "Have a difference in opinion on how to proceed with our current… situation."

There were three other people in the small room; each of them a uniformed officer. They all look either bored or anxious to be somewhere else.

"Have you been able to isolate the virus?" Superman asked.

"That's just it," Dr. Yamamoto explained. "There is no virus. At least not one we can detect."

"Yeah," Dr. Mullen interrupted. "And believe me, I looked. I checked each and every file personally; program files, back-up folders, system folders, personal logs, even the recycle bin. And besides a few tracks by the 'Flaming Love Monkeys' and some candid shots of Dr. Morales here at last years Christmas party… I didn't find anything!"

"And you wouldn't find anything," Morales fumed. "if the virus is time released! It would lay dormant in some file or some random line of code until a specific time and then it would activate, causing the systems crash. Then we all go boom!"

"Is that possible?" Superman asked.

"Theoretically." Mullen answered. "But like I said; I checked all our files and systems. There isn't anything there!"

"Could someone upload a virus from the web?" Superman asked again.

"No." this from Dr. Yamamoto. "This system operates on closed servers. There is no internet connection. All our operational data is stored and backed up on private drives. They are manually removed from the main CPU and uploaded to Lex-Corp every twenty-four hours."

"So if there is a virus in the system, it's something that had to be uploaded within the last twenty-four hours, right?" Superman asked.

"Last ten hours." Mullen corrected. "The servers were last cleaned ten hours ago."

"And who had access since then?" Superman asked.

"Just the three of us." Dr. Yamamoto answered. "No one else has had access to the programs within the last three days. We work twelve hour shifts on a rotating schedule. There are always two of us here at all times. The system is nearly ninety-five percent automated, so we are here more to monitor things and make sure nothing goes wrong. I was coming in to relieve Dr. Morales… and then… that… 'announcement' was made. The three of us have been here ever since."

"That poor woman." Dr. Morales whispered.

Superman looked at her. She was rubbing her fingers over a small crucifix hung on thin gold chain around her neck. She noticed him looking and turned away.

"It is possible that this is all just a hoax." Mullen said absently. "I mean the stones it would take to cause a meltdown and destroy an entire city… Someone would have to be seriously screwed in the head for something like that!"

"Screwed in the head enough to say," Superman began. "Blow up a ferry full of people. Or a school bus full of children. Or… torture a woman on worldwide television."

Dr. Mullen actually seemed to grow even paler.

"Maybe we should go to the control room so you can show me how your systems work." Superman said to Dr. Yamamoto.

Dr. Yamamoto frowned. "Superman, you are already in the control room."

Superman looked at the bare space and frowned.

Mullen smiled. "Dude…" he beamed. "Check it out…" He turned towards the far wall. "Overlay." He said in a loud clear voice.

And the room responded.

It began with the walls…

It was like watching the condensation on a beer mug evaporate. The white color in the floor, ceiling and walls seemed to just bleed away, like smoke under the force of a fan, revealing a room made almost entirely of a transparent material. The expanse of the plant was laid out all around them; a patchwork of catwalks and crawlspaces, all bathed in an amber-hued halogen lights that cast long shadows around the massive room. The area was laid out with the twin reactor chambers spaced about a football field apart from one another, the idea being that if something went wrong with one, the damage could be contained and isolated before it affected the other areas.

The chambers themselves where large dome like structures; fifty feet in diameter at the base, the roof reaching thirty feet high. There was a long catwalk connecting the two domes, which in turn was bisected by another catwalk, this one running to a small room sixty feet below the control room. On the other side of chambers sat the coolant tanks, six in all; three dedicated to each reactor. Large, round, bloated spheres; each with a ten thousand gallon capacity.

They sat in tight little clusters, each close to their designated chamber; large, thick pipes snaking from tanks to reactors.

Next, the "overlay" flashed to life.

All around the room; on the floors, walls, and ceiling; words, numbers, graphs, and various readouts overlapped the real-time display of the plant in a three-dimensional layout. The reactors were marked as LXHNR1 and LXHNR2; temperature, coolant levels, and production output hovered over each dome. Digital numbers also hovered over the coolant tanks, reading their capacity in gallons, each tank marked by a different element of the periodic table. Numbers hovered over pipes. The words "ON" and "OFF" floated above valves; "ON" was highlighted in most cases, "OFF" in others.

Superman looked down "through" the floor and had to move his foot to see the words "Scrub Room" floating over the small room below.

Finally, there were a series of monitors that seemed to just float in the upper portion of the room, where the ceiling and far wall meet. Superman could still make out the seam. There were five monitors in all, each with a different image.

"This is where we monitor everything aspect of the reactors:" Mullen explained. "Temperature, radiation levels, system automation, power output, water circulation; everything. This screen here," he pointed to the monitor screen in the center. "These are security cameras located inside the reactors."

Superman took a step forward in eyed a screen that was broken into four images, each one a different angle of the reactors interior.

The reactor chamber was large and round, the floor shaped like a bowl, a level walkway circling perimeter and one running along the center. The conclave portion was submerged in some type of liquid. Just beneath the surface, Superman could see a collection of lights shining up from the floor.

"That's reactor one." Dr. Yamamoto added. "And that's number two." He pointed towards a second monitor.

"What's that liquid?" he asked.

"That's the coolant." Dr. Morales answered. She reached up and double tapped the air in front of the monitor. The image zoomed in, the monitor doubling in size; the high-definition image now taking up twenty percent of the wall. "We use a chemical mixture of water, liquid nitrogen, and a third reagent that both keeps the liquid nitrogen from instantly freezing the water and even decreased the overall temperature of the mixture by up to a hundred degrees. The three chemicals are mixed together just before entering the chamber, to optimize the effectiveness.

Water from the dam is pumped into the green tanks, and using a chemical bonding process, its super cooled to minus 150 degrees. It's a fairly stable chemical compound, but it's still quite dangerous. Touching it would be worse than sticking your finger into liquid nitrogen." She warned. "The mixture is then pumped through the reactor chamber, as well as through those pipes running along the walls," she pointed at one of the screens. "We use it to regulate the external temperature of the reactor as well. Since the control rods stay relatively intact during the process, the level of waste is reduced by seventy percent. Once the coolant is heated to a certain level, it's pumped out of the chamber and into the steam collectors that power the turbines. The residual condensation is cycled back into the dam water, and then again into the cooling process and so on. This process increase energy output over a hundred and fifty percent since almost no water is every truly lost."

"Impressive." Superman stated, looking around the room with a bit of awe. "And what would happen if the cooling system was turned off?" he asked.

The technicians exchanged nervous glances.

"You want the technical version?" Mullen asked.

"Humor me." Superman answered.

"Well," Mullen said, pointing at a series of readouts on one of the monitors. "This is the current temperature inside the reactors."

The screen showed a vertical scale the ranged from negative two-hundred degrees on the low in and over five thousand degrees on the high end. Currently, there was a triangulated marker hovering between three hundred and four hundred degrees Celsius. It read 355degrees in large numbers next to the marker.

"The cooling programs AI generally keeps the temp somewhere between three and four hundred degrees, by either increasing or decreasing the amount of coolant pumped into the chamber, and the number of active control rods. If the system was shut off, then the core temperature would start to rise. At one thousand degrees, the water inside the reactor is flash evaporated. At twenty-five hundred degrees, the reactor walls start to crack. Four thousand, they melt. Literally. Around five thousand, the fuel rods turns to liquid and melt through the bottom of the core. Typically, a liquid uranium rod could drop fifty to a hundred feet into the earth before it stops. Now, that's bad for the planet for two reason, the least of which being the interesting plant life that would follow. The first being that everything within a fifty mile radius; every piece of soil, rock, tree, and water source would become radioactive. Eat so much as an apple of a local tree and you'll develop the cool ability to glow in the dark." Mullen turned and looked at Superman. "Can you do that?" he asked.

Superman just looked at him.

"Humph…" Mullen grumbled, seemingly disappointed. He turned back towards the monitors. "Anyway," he continued. "The local eco system would be the least of your worries."

"Why is that?" Superman asked.

"Well," Mullen went on. "There wouldn't be much left after the explosion."

"Wait," Superman cut in. "I thought it was impossible for a meltdown to cause a nuclear explosion; that the uranium used would have to be extremely enriched; more than the commercial grade all reactors are supposed to use."

"True." Mullen beamed. "But we're not talking a nuclear blast. See… when the uranium fuel rod melts through the floor, its not going to drop into the earth… it's going to hit the water first. It will flash fry every drop of water in the bay, the dam, and the river." Mullen frowned. "Imagine pouring a cup of water into a steaming hot pan full of cooking grease." He put his hands together and made a small circle. Then, with a sound effect like an explosion, he slowly spread his hands and fingers apart. "The resulting steam blast will wipe out everything within five, maybe ten miles. I don't know what that wacko was talking about when he said two hundred miles."

"Maybe he just wanted to scare everyone." Dr. Yamamoto suggested. "Two hundred miles sounds a lot worse than ten miles."

"Or maybe he knows something we don't." Superman stated plainly.

An ominous silence filled the room.

There was a "Beep" and then the security doors slid open again. Agent Davison and Agent Sanders entered the room. Agent Sanders took one look at, or rather, through, the transparent floor, down at the sixty foot drop beneath her, and clutched Davison's arm for dear life. Davison looked down and froze almost mid step.

"What the hell!?" he gasped.

Mullen laughed.

Dr. Yamamoto stepped forward. "You must be the agents that phoned ahead." He introduced himself and all the others, save for the uniformed officers.

They looked around at all the faces, each one heavy with shadows and dark thoughts.

"What'd we miss?" Agent Davison asked. "And where the hell is the floor?"

Superman and Dr. Yamamoto brought them up to speed.

"You said a system reset would erase any virus that could harm the cooling system." Agent Davison asked when they were done.

"Yes." Dr. Morales said.

"It would be like cutting off your hand to save your finger." Mullen frowned.

Superman looked at Dr. Yamamoto. "Will resetting the system work?" he asked simply.

Dr. Yamamoto looked from Superman, to Dr. Mullen, to Dr. Morales and then back to Superman.

"It will work." He answered finally. "But Dr. Mullen is also correct. While a system reset would purge the servers of any potentially harmful viruses, it would also cripple the plant. It will take days to restore the systems."

"Will Metropolis lose power?" Superman asked.

"No." Morales answered. "The storage units will keep the city running for up to ten days."

"No loss in power," Agent Davison realized. "No fried hostage."

Superman nodded.

"Do it!" Agent Davison ordered.

"You're kidding me!" Mullen protested. "This is crazy! We're going to have to start from scratch! We'll lose all the data, all the settings, all the—"

Agent Davison grabbed him by his coat lapels and pulled him close, placing his face an inch away from his own.

"I don't care if you have to spend the next five years running the place with a candle and a calculator!" he barked. "Reset the system!"

He released the man so suddenly, Mullen feel back on his rear. For a moment, it looked as if he would fall all the way to the plant floor sixty feet below. Mullen looked up at the Agent as if he was the boogie man. After a few moments of regaining his composer and adjusting his glasses, got to his feet and he turned towards the monitors.

It was then that Superman noticed the small dot of amber light floating in mid air. Mullen reached out and pressed it, and a virtual keyboard flashed to life.

He began typing commands, taking time to double tap one monitor, increasing its size. It seemed to be listing of all the active programs. Mullen selected one by double tapping the monitor again.

"This is going to take a few minutes." He explained. "I have to shut down the reactors before we can reset the system; pull the fuel rods, reset the control rods, flush the coolants. I'm also going to have to switch the entire plant over to reserve, get the back-ups running, and cycle the batteries… "

"How much of what you just mentioned requires you to keep speaking?" Agent Davison asked, more than slightly annoyed.

Dr. Mullen continued working in silence. With a slight smirk, Dr. Morales pressed yet another amber dot, bringing another virtual keyboard to life. She began assisting him.

Davison addressed the uniforms next. "You four are relieved." He said plainly. "There's a chopper in the parking area ready to get you out the area. No one needs to be here unless they need to be here. That goes for the two of you as well, Dr. Yamamoto, Dr. Morales."

"I'm afraid I'll be staying, Agent Davison." Yamamoto replied.

"If 'coppertop' here can handle the reset, then you two don't need to stick around." Davison argued.

"I helped to build this reactor, Agent." Yamamoto explained. "And while I'm more than confident Dr. Mullen can handle the reset alone, if there's any hiccups during the reboot, I'd prefer to be here to assist him, if necessary."

Agent Davison looked at the smaller man for a long tense moment. The older man locked eyes with him and made it apparently clear that he wasn't about to go anywhere.

"Fine." Davison said at last. "Guess that means you get the golden ticket, Morales."

"No." Just the one word was all she said. She didn't even bother turning away from the monitor.

"Look…" Agent Davison fumed. "I get it. You work here, and these reactors are like your babies, or what ever the hell makes since to you right now, but I don't need all three of you to be here right now! And if things go sour, I'd rather have a few less bodies to worry about!"

And slowly, Dr. Morales slowly turned around.

"No, Agent Davison, you don't 'get it'." She said calmly. "There is no one in the world that knows these reactors, or these systems, better than the three of us. Can Mullen do it alone? Yes. Can Dr. Yamamoto handle anything he can't? Yes. But what we are about to attempt has never been done before. There are a million different variables, and if there is the slightest chance that I may possess the smallest sliver of information that may help this plant avoid a nuclear disaster, than I'm going to stay and make sure I do what I can. And as far as I'm concerned, Agent, if there's anyone in this room that doesn't need to be here right now, it's you and your officers."

And without waiting for a response, she went back to the monitor and her work.

Superman fought the urge to smile.

Agent Davison actually looked embarrassed for a moment. He looked at Agent Sanders, who simply shrugged.

"Guess that leaves you." He said to her.

Her face was suddenly angry. "What? Why? I can help you with—"

"That's an order, Agent." Davison said softly.

It was his tone that caught her attention; gentle and compassionate. And his eyes, eyes that usually held all the subtlety of a thunder storm, eyes that were now filled with an almost pleading gaze.

"Sir." She complied after a long moment, but held his gaze for moment longer.

Without another word, she left the room, the four uniforms on her heels.

They left the room silently, and only Superman watched them go.

The twin steel doors slid closed behind them.

The room was near silent then; only the sound of virtual computer keys being pressed and the ever present hum of distant motors.

Agent Davison drew even with Superman.

"Why do I feel like a snowball headed straight for hell right now?"

"Because you're thinking the same thing I am." Superman answered softly.

"If he's as smart as we think he is," Agent Davison whispered. "Then he will have thought of this."

" _And only Superman can stop it._ " Superman thought to himself.

Agent Davison drew in a long, deep breath and let it out very slowly. "Let's just hope our guy's not as smart as we think he is." He said finally.

Superman didn't respond. He was too busy worrying about what it would mean if in fact he was as smart as they thought he was.


	35. Chapter 35

Lois felt nauseas. Her stomach was a twisted knot. She was hungry and her throat was dry. She wondered how long it had been since she had last eaten something, but was at the same time relived her stomach was empty. Had it been full, she was sure she would have covered herself with vomit a while ago.

Her entire body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Her head was pounding, it hurt to swallow, her skin was feverish, her eyes were burning, and her heart seemed reluctant to beat properly.

It was far to say that she had seen better days.

She sat in the chair, still hunched forward, her eyes drawn tightly closed, the sound of her own unsteady breathing the only sound in her ears. She had sat there in silence for some time. She couldn't figure how long exactly; her mind was having a difficult time focusing. She remembered the pain; the blind, sheering pain; all consuming, filling every inch of her body. So complete. So Intense. She would have done almost anything to make it stop.

Almost.

There had been a line she had refused to cross.

" _His name is Clark Kent"_. The words echoed through her mind over and over, like a song stuck in your head that your brain refused to release. He had asked what her husbands name was. Not once. But twice. Why? Did he know? Did he know her husbands greatest secret? A chill crept up Lois spine at the thought.

There was a sound from behind her that made Lois clinch her eyes tighter. Her heartbeat and breathing sped as she prepared her body for more of the body wrecking pain that she was sure to come. Her pulse hammered in her ears like a drum.

"His name is Clark Kent. His name is Clark Kent." She started to say softly. "His name is Clark Kent."

"I know Clark Kent is Superman." A familiar voice said from just in front of her.

Slowly and reluctantly, Lois opened her eyes.

Jeremiah was kneeling a foot in front of her, looking right into her eyes; his own emerald orbs full of compassion and pity.

The fear was suddenly gone, replaced by an all consuming rage.

If Lois were free, she may have wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed until he was still. She may have rained punches down on him until her arms were heavy and numb. She may even have gone as far as to regress to some animalistic rage and attempt to chew his face off.

Instead, she was left trashing at the restraints of her chair, snarling and hissing and cursing wildly. The only words Jeremiah was able to make out would have made a sailor blush.

He just kneeled there and listened and waited. He waited a long time. "Lois… I know." He said finally.

"I don't know what your talking about." she replied through gritted teeth; still straining at the leather straps, her fingers clawing at the space between her and his face.

"Of course you don't" he smiled. "I understand how vital a secret that must be, how hard it must be for you, as a journalist, to keep the story of the century under wraps."

"My husband is not Superman." Lois spat. "He's a staff reporter at the Daily Plant. He's from Smallville, Kansas. He's a simple farm boy!"

"And he's also from a planet called Krypton, parades around in a red cape and tights, fights bad guys, fly's, blah, blah, blah. Don't worry. I'm not going to expose him. That's not what this is about."

Lois was at once relieved and terrified. For someone to have the opportunity to expose Superman's secret and to pass it up; well, it could only be for a reason much, much worse. She tried for a change of topics.

"And here I was thinking that blowing up a research facility was statement enough…" she breathed.

Jeremiah looked at her, the slightest sliver of shame flashing through his eyes. "Lois, you need to understand." He began.

"UNDERSTAND WHAT?!" Lois screamed. "You killed three dozen innocent people! And for what. To get Superman's attention!?" She strained harder at the restraints then before.

"Lois, please." he said softly. He stood up and walked over towards the mirror. Lois watched him through furious eyes, still pulling and testing the restraints.

He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment. He was sweating. His eyes were dark circles, and crisscrossed with thin red veins. His face was clean shaven, his bright red beard gone, the skin beneath was pale. He brought his hand up to his forehead and wiped his face slow and hard. He looked as if he hadn't eaten or slept in days.

"You know… she really loved him." He began. "My wife… Lisa. She loved Superman. Not in the way you love him, to be sure. She didn't worship him either, or anything so ridiculous. But she loved what he stood for. Not so much the whole 'Truth, Justice, and American way' nonsense, but the idea of one man trying to change the world. The concept of one person doing everything in their power to try to make the world a better place… She really loved that…"

"He's the reason we moved to Metropolis. She said she wanted to live someplace safe. I actually laughed when she said that. 'Safe? Metropolis? Where every other month there's a meta-human brawl in the streets, alien invasion, dark wizard trying to conjure a gateway to hell, or super-powered gang trying to rob a bank! What's safe?' You know what she said?" He turned and faced Lois then. Her eyes still burned with fury and tears.

"She said 'No matter what comes to Metropolis, Superman will protect us.' And do you know what I told her?" He leaned forward and spoke softly. "I told her even Superman can't save everyone."

He turned away from Lois and walked in a small circle around the chair, looking around the room. "She died waiting for him to save her; cooked alive in a giant steam pot. You remember it, don't you Lois? You wrote an article about it after all."

Lois's mind was still firmly entrenched on the idea of getting her hands on her captor, but there was the faintest hint of recollection there. A steam pot? What had he meant by that?

"The fire in the brownstone?" she whispered, her anger fading slightly.

Jeremiah nodded.

"The pregnant woman." Lois breathed. "That was your wife?"

Jeremiah stopped walking and stood silently.

"Listen to me;" Lois began, the incident of a year past returning to her mind. "I was there Jeremiah. I was there, at the fire. Superman tried to save her! He did all he could…"

Jeremiah lashed out so suddenly that Lois never had time to brace for the blow. The back of his fist slammed into the side of her face and rocked her head back. Her vision swam and bright spots exploded into her view. The entire left side of her face ached. The metallic, coppery taste of blood peppered her tongue.

"Don't you dare defend him!" Jeremiah roared, his face inches from hers. "He didn't do anything for her! Or for my son! She waited for him, in the dark, in the smoke and the heat. Screaming, crying, and begging for him to save her. To save our baby! And he didn't do a damned thing for her. He let her die! He killed her! He killed them both! Your Superman!" he spat, pacing once more, barely containing his fury. "Your savior! Your hero! He flies around this planet like he's God, deciding who to save and who not to save. Who to protect and who to condemn! Who's guilty! Who's innocent! And we just cheer and applaud like helpless little sheep. We build statues and monuments of him. We sing his songs and shout his praise. We write books and watch television shows and ogle at photos. And for what!? For him to abandon us when we need him?! For him to fail at saving the ones we love! The one's we need the most!"

He was standing behind her now, looking at her in the mirror, his eyes filled with tears and darker things.

Lois turned her head slowly, and even that small movement sent a throbbing ache through her face, neck, and shoulders. She looked at him then, long and hard. No more than a day ago, she would have called him a friend, thanked him for being there for her. She would have recounted her experience at the Stangin Institute and noted that she would not have been able to make it through, had it not been for Jeremiah's help. Now, she was his prisoner. His hostage. She had been tortured and beaten by someone she had trusted just a few days before.

Emotions ebbed back and forth through her like the sea. She felt such sadness and pity for him; the pain and sorrow he must have endured at the lost of his wife and unborn child; the despair of losing not only your present, but your future as well. How such a tragedy could send nearly anyone over the edge.

But bound to a metal, chair, parts of her body still wrecked with uncontrollable spasms from repeated shocks, the pain he had in turn inflicted on her, the lives lost at the Stangin Institute, the blood now running down her cheek; if filled her with anger and thoughts of vengeance as well.

The two emotions swung like a pendulum. And sitting there, looking at him standing over her in the mirror, she was afraid of which one would win in the end.

"I know I can't beat him, Lois." He continued softly, his emotions again under control. "I know he'll save the city, one way or another. Either him, or one of those other costumed heroes. In the end, I suppose they always win. I know that there's nothing I can do to destroy Superman. For all the pain he's caused me, for all my grief, I can't do a damned thing to Superman that'll ever make up for it all. But then again… I don't have to."

He knelt again, bringing his face very close to the side of Lois, their eyes still locked in the mirror in front of them. Lois's pulse sped slightly.

"When he saves the city, you will die." He said matter-of-factly. "I am sorry it has to be you. I truly am. I can even see why he picked you. You are an amazing woman. So much life. So much spirit. So fearless and brave. I see how you could keep him so… grounded." He eyed the chair she was sitting in, looking at the wires that ran up the legs and around the arms. "It will be quick and relatively painless." he said softly, looking at her in the mirror again. "That is the best I can offer you, Lois. But the instant the power is returned to the city, the jolt will kill you. And then, it will be over. Then, I will have my revenge. I may not be able to kill Superman, but God help me, I can take his heart."

He held her gaze in the mirror for another moment before he rose to his full height, turned, and made for the door.

"You're forgetting something." Lois said before she could stop herself.

Jeremiah turned and looked at her reflection, his eyebrows raised intuitively.

"This isn't over." She said it as if it was an indisputable fact. "I'm not dead yet." She spoke softly, but her voice dripped with venom and malice.

Jeremiah smiled. "Lois, you are bound to a chair, in a sound proof room, inside walls made of lead. Psionic dampeners have been built into the ceiling. There's no phones, no tracking devices, no signals of any kind. No one knows where you are. No one will be able to find you. Not the Martian or even the detective. You are all alone, and you are completely helpless."

He looked at her in the mirror then. The left side of her face was turning purple and beginning to swell. Blood was trickling down her chin from the corner of her mouth. Her cheeks were streaked with drying tears and her eyes were puffy and red. And despite it all, Jeremiah saw something that made his blood run cold and send a chill down his spine.

He saw Lois smile.

He left the small room and closed and locked the door behind him.


	36. Chapter 36

Superman was slowly beginning to realize that patience was not one of his better qualities

It had been about forty minutes since the technicians began the never before attempted system reset. In that time, Superman had stood silently near the far wall and watched them work.

He watched them first issue commands that initiated a switch in the power feed from the reactors and turbines, to a large collection of storage units located in another location of the plant. He watched the large monitors as they cycled off the reactors functions, starting with the extraction of the uranium fuel rods. A large robotic arm swung down from the ceiling and seemed to dig into the small pool of coolant, and then counter clockwise, completing nine full revolutions. When it retracted finally, there was a long cylindrical casing attached to the end. It was roughly the length and diameter of a baseball bat. The casing was lined horizontally with wide slits, the uranium rod inside glowed with a fine golden hue the color of hazards lights in the blue-blackness of the reactor chamber.

The next were the control rods. Long silver tinted rods slid out of the coolant simultaneously, all rising from the still liquid like silent sentries or futuristic trees. No robotic arm swept down to prune the metallic forest; instead the rods stood resolute, three feet high, in the chamber.

Flushing the coolant was relatively quick. There was a pump built into the drain. The coolant itself was recycled regularly as it was, but the pumping system allowed for the coolant to be transferred faster. The speed of the pump could even be adjusted to allow for faster circulation, a precaution designed just in case the reactor began to overheat. The coolant could be pumped into the room, used to cool the reactor dramatically, or until the coolant itself reached critical, then it could be flushed and fresh coolant pumped in.

Now, they were cycling through the rest of the operating systems, shutting them down one by one.

Superman watched the process on the monitors, and then, through the walls of the control room. It was built fifty yards away and sixty feet up, overlooking both chambers. Directly below them was the scrub room. Dr. Yamamoto had explained that it housed the protective gear for the technicians and maintenance crew; heat resistant radiation suits to be exact. The scrub room was for just that purpose, scrubbing the equipment clean in a special chemical bath after anytime spent in the reactor chambers. It helped to eliminate radiation sickness and contamination.

Superman looked down at the room, and out at the entire expanse curiously.

"This must be what it feels like to be you." this from Agent Davison.

Superman looked at him. "What do you mean?"

Davison was looking down at the scrub room as well. "Standing on thin air, looking through walls; little unsettling really."

"You get used to it."

"Somehow… I seriously doubt that." Davison said flatly.

"Alright," he heard Dr. Mullen say. "The fuel rods are in the containment units. The control rods are raised! The coolant's flushed, and ninety-five percent of Metropolis is running off of batteries. All the major systems have been shut-down, and the only systems left are the mains, and this room." He took a heavy breath. "Are we absolutely sure we want to do this?" he asked finally.

Everyone in the room exchanged nervous glances. Mullen looked at Morales. Morales looked at Yamamoto. Yamamoto looked at Davison. Davison looked at Superman. Superman looked at them all. The silence lasted a long moment.

The tension lasted longer.

Superman nodded finally.

"Do it." Agent Davison instructed.

Dr. Mullen sighed. "Here we go." he said softly. "And if you hear a strange popping sound, don't worry… it's just my sphincter shrinking."

He punched the final commands into the system.

The 3-D overlay was the first to fade. The words, numbers, and readouts that hovered over their respective areas all blinked off simultaneously. Then, the transparent walls, floor, and ceiling became cloudy and opaque once again. The monitors were next, blinking out of existence as quickly as they had appeared.

And finally, with just a few keystrokes, the virtual keyboard vanished, and the room went dim.

Agent Davison let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

They all stood there silently, looking around the now muted, off white room, dark shadows on everyone's faces.

"Now what?" Davison asked after a long moment.

"We wait." Dr. Yamamoto answered.

"Wait for what?" this from Superman.

"Well, it's kind of like hitting restart on your laptop." Mullen explained. "We have to wait for the system to boot back up. Should only take a few minutes. Unless…"

"Unless what?" Davison asked.

"Unless we complete screwed up everything and the system crashed, then Superman would have to pry the doors apart to get us out of this room and we'd have to run this place with a candle and a calculator…" he glanced at Davison then and smiled. "But that wouldn't bother you too much, would it?"

Agent Davison had a scathing remark prepared, but never got to it.

There was a beep, and the room became a lot brighter.

"YES!" Mullen shouted, clapping his hands together. In front of him, the small point of light was back. He pressed it and the virtual keyboard flashed back to life. He entered a command and the monitors reappeared, although, this time, they were dark and blank, or marked with a command prompt in the upper left-hand corner of the screen.

"Overlay." Mullen shouted happily.

Nothing happened.

"Overlay." He said again, and again, the room remained opaque.

"What's wrong?" Davison asked.

Dr. Morales had erected her own virtual keyboard and was working furiously. The screen in front of her was scrolling quickly through lines of code and various programs.

"It appears they voice activated controls are off-line. As are most of the systems; including the security feeds, chamber controls, coolant systems, and overlays. The reset worked, but we're back at square one."

"Ugh!" Mullen rubbed his hand through his hair in frustration. "I told you this would happen! Damnit!"

"Easy there, 'Red'." Davison said. "We knew what we were getting into. The important thing is that the reactors are safe and we stopped the meltdown. Now, all we have to do is—"

"What's that sound?" Superman asked.

Every one looked at him.

His brow was creased with concentration. He was staring intently at the far wall.

"What do you hear?" Dr. Yamamoto asked.

"Sounds like servo motors and pistons. It's coming from the reactors. They're lined with lead, so I can't see inside them, but there's definitely something moving inside them."

"The arms?" Dr. Yamamoto puzzled.

Mullen was working furiously at his keyboard. His monitor was scrolling quickly through programs. "The arms are activated. They are running on auto. Looks like they are trying to insert the fuel rods into the reactors."

"That sounds bad…" Davison noted.

"It would be," Mullen replied. "But the reactors are off, so the fuel rods won't do anything…"

A tremor ran through the entire expanse. There was a loud horn, followed by a vibrating sensation.

Everyone froze.

"Was that what I think it was?" Davison asked.

"The reactors are online!" Morales shouted. "The reaction process is about to begin!"

"Activate the coolant process." Dr. Yamamoto shouted.

"I'm trying!" Mullen answered. "The program needs to be reinstalled. I'm trying to start the sequence manually, but it's not working."

"The control rods are not functioning either." Morales added. "I can't get them to retract. If they are not embedded when the process starts, the cores will overheat."

"Shut them down!" Superman shouted.

"I can't!" Mullen screamed. "The reactors control systems aren't responding! I'm trying everything. Nothing working!"

Superman was suddenly beside him. "Listen very closely," he said calmly. "If you don't find a way to shut down those reactors, two and a half million people may die."

"That's really not helping…" Mullen replied as he typed furiously into the keyboard. Beads of sweat wear forming on his brow.

And then, the room went black.

The keyboards vanished, as did the monitors; even the opaque walls went completely dark.

"What the hell just happened?" Davison asked.

No one answered. No one moved.

A moment later, the emergency lights flashed to life from the upper corners of the room, throwing shadows everywhere.

"WHAT. THE. HELL. JUST. HAPPENED?" Davison shouted.

"The power went out." Superman answered.

"Really?" Davison asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Let me try a different question then: why the hell did the power just go out?!"

"Oh man…" Mullen was muttering and pacing back and forth. "Oh man… We are so screwed. We are so totally screwed. I mean pull your pants down, grab your ankles and hold on tight cause we are so totally screwed!"

Dr. Morales was standing as still as a statue. Her eyes were closed and she was barely breathing. The only part's of her body that moved were her hands, which were wrapped around her crucifix, stroking back and forth across the hand etched surface; and her lips, which moved furiously as she prayed silently in Spanish.

Dr. Yamamoto looked at Superman, his eyes both apologetic and pleading. When he spoke, his voice was soft and cracked slightly. "It seems the sudden surge in power from the reactor has fried our systems. We have lost power to the plant."

"So what are you saying?" Davison asked, stepping forward. "The entire plant is dead. Everything!?"

"No…" Superman said softly. "Not everything. Listen…"

They looked at him together, each of them almost immediately realizing what he was talking about.

The reactors were still operationally. And still powering up.

"Dear God." Yamamoto whispered.

"There goes the lube!" Mullen shouted, throwing his hands up.

Dr. Morales was speechless.

Davison was suddenly pale.

Superman was silent.

The room was filled with silence for several long tense seconds that seemed to drag on forever.

"How long?" Superman asked finally.

Dr. Yamamoto seemed to consider the question for a moment. "It's difficult to tell, but at best guess… roughly twenty minutes."

Superman and Davison locked eyes.

"He knew!" Davison fumed. "He knew we'd try to purge the virus with a system reset and the son of a bitch sabotaged it!"

Superman silently wished he had something to hit. Whoever was behind this seemed to constantly be one step ahead them; and Superman was growing weary of playing catch-up.

Standing in a small dark room, surrounded by a trio of geniuses that were as baffled by their current predicament as he was, and a federal agent who was equal parts intelligent, perpetually pissed of, and pain in the ass.

The only thing Superman could be thankful for was the fact that, since they city's power grids had been switched over to the plants back-up batteries, Lois, were ever she was, was relatively safe from the treat of further electrocution.

In the darkness of the control room, the sound of "Chainsaws and Lipstick", a song by the Flaming Love Monkeys, began playing and growing in volume.

It took them a minute to realize the sound was coming from Agent Davison's pocket.

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and pressed a key.

"Davison!" he barked. "What?... Sanders?... I can't hear you! Are you in the chopper?... WHAT!? … WHEN!?..."

Everyone in the room was holding their breath and staring at Davison, including Superman. He looked at them, his face pale, his eyes a mixture of fear, anger, and frustration. He pulled the phone from his face and tried three times to speak.

And while the others were waiting for the news, Superman had heard every word.

The control room wasn't the only thing that had lost power.

As of three minutes ago, Metropolis was completely blacked-out.


	37. Chapter 37

Lois was staring at herself in the mirror. One side of her face was swollen and a mixture of black, red, and purple. There was blood crusted in the corner of her mouth and her chin. Her sports bra was sprinkled with spots of crimson from where it dripped from her chin. She was covered with sweat, her garments soaked through, and her head swam at odd intervals. One moment, she was sitting there, looking at herself in the mirror, the next; she was trying desperately not to vomit.

It had been at least fifteen minutes since Jeremiah had left the room. In that time, Lois had sat there in silence. She didn't scream. She didn't cry out for help. She didn't curse or shout her plans for revenge.

She just sat and looked at herself in the mirror.

Thinking. Planning. Plotting.

And so far, she had nothing.

The straps on her wrists, legs, and across her chest were heavy leather; a quarter-inch thick, and an inch and a half wide. It would take her three minutes to cut through it with a razor blade. Not that she had one. But the idea floated through her mind.

She thought of kicking over one of the floor lights, hoping that if it fell at just the right angle, the bulb would break and cover her with shards of broken glass; one of which she may be able to reach with her bound hands and use to cut through the strap. It was a good plan, if not a little far-fetched, Lois would have tried, if her feet weren't bound to the chair.

She thought of using her own manicured nails to saw through the thick material, but quickly abandoned that plan when the nail on her fore finger snapped before she left so much as a scratch.

She tested the restraints for the umpteenth time, pulling at them with her hands, leaning as far forward as she could, and trying to tear her legs away from the straps on her ankles. The strap across her chest was placed over her breast and under her arms. The buckle was under and a little to the right of her armpit; it dug into her side and back as she leaned forward. Since it was over her bosom, and not under, it allowed for a lot less movement. The straps on her ankles were equally tight and uncomfortable. In fact, Lois had to repeatedly clinch and flex her toes as her feet went numb from lack of circulation. She couldn't feel anything buy the warm, course material against her skin and concluded the buckles were either apart of the chair, or behind the legs.

The straps on her wrists gave her the faintest sliver of hope.

Her right hand had been bound flat against the arm of the chair, the palm facing down. The strap was tight and secure and offered very little movement. Like her feet, her right hand had gone numb numerous times, and she had to ball her hand into fist to get the blood pumping again.

Her left hand was a slightly different story. There, the strap had been applied while her wrist was on its side, the palm of her left hand facing inward. While the strap was applied tightly, she could twist her wrist slightly, rotate it forty-five degrees, and had a small amount of play between her skin and the strap. She could even maneuver her arm a half inch forward and backward; stopping just below her forearm, and just below the mound of flesh, bone, and muscle tendon where the thumb met the wrist.

It wasn't much, but it was something.

And so for, that was all she had.

She had been slowly trying to wiggle her hand out of the restraint for the better part of ten minutes. The skin was already red and chaffed and even started to bruise. Her entire left arm was a slow, steady ache. She twisted her wrist and pushed and pulled her arm forward and back. She hoped that with a little time and a lot of luck, she could warp the leather, or, at worst, sand away enough layers of skin to allow her room to slide her hand free.

But time was something she didn't have. And she realized, looking at her reflection in what she could only imagine was a two way mirror, that Jeremiah would see her; and before she could free herself of the other straps, he would be in the room to tie her back down, this time more securely; or even worse, send another few hundred jolts into her through the chair, making escape a mute point.

She cursed inside her head.

 _"C'mon Lane!"_ she thought. " _Think, damnit! There's got to be a way out of this! What would Clark do?"_ And the moment she thought his name, she wished she hadn't. A flood of emotions hit her like a physical thing. The thought of her husband; earths greatest champion, the most powerful being in the planet; his bright crystal blue eyes, his raven dark hair, his perfect skin, beautiful smile, the scent of his skin, the warmth of his body, the feel of his powerful arms…

And how she might never be able to be with him again.

And again, she began to cry.

Despair, hope, anger, love, frustration, rage, regret…

The emotions swam through her like a pinwheel; with one standing out more that all the others.

Determination.

She pulled at the restraints again, her every muscle straining.

 _"I will not die here!"_ she screamed in her mind. " _I will not be a victim! I. Am. Not. Helpless!"_

And as she pulled and pulled and pulled; as her muscles ached, and as fatigue began to take its toll, something happened that even Lois didn't expect.

The lights went out.


	38. Chapter 38

The painting was on a large canvas; five feet by three. Nearly three quarters of it was taken up by a large red and green mass; not a circle, or even an oval, but a flowing, bubble like shape, filled with swirls of orange and purple, slashes of white and yellow, and little squiggly lines of grey. If you looked closely, you could barely make out small mathematic symbols hidden here and there in an almost transparent blue.

Above the mass of swirling colors was a cube like shape, with rounded sides and right angles. It covered the rest of the canvas, and was a collage of nearly every imaginable color there was. They were painted in such a way that the colors both stoop apart, yet blended perfectly, making what could be best explained as a "pool" of color.

"It's our family." Lisa had explained.

Jeremiah stared at it a moment longer. He was seated in small metal chair in front of the large piece of canvas that leaned against the wall. His head was tilted slightly to one side and he looked from one end of the painting to the other slowly. "I don't get it." He said finally.

Lisa smiled. She was standing behind him, leaning over him, her face close to his, the smooth soft skin of her chin and cheek nestled in the bend of his neck and shoulder, her soft hair brushing the side of his face, the scent of lavender and cinnamon filling his nose as he inhaled.

She gestured to the painting, making a large circular motion with her left had. "That's you." She said, indicating the large bubbly mass.

"Wow." Jeremiah replied. "I look terrible." He joked.

She bit him playfully on the neck. He laughed.

"Why am I so misshapen?" he asked.

"Because you are a complex man." She answered.

"Am not."

"Really? So you're not a mixture of Irish and Scottish heritage? You're not witty and smart, and romantic, and passionate, and adventurous yet reserved; thoughtful and caring, yet absentminded and forgetful, determined, quiet, laidback, and wonderful husband?"

Jeremiah stared at the painting. "You're having an affair, aren't you?" he joked.

And again, she bit him; this time a little harder.

Jeremiah laughed. "What's with all the math symbols?" he asked.

"Because, my love, sometimes, that's all you think about!"

"That's not all I think about…" he replied, reaching back and rubbing her swollen womb.

"And I'm sure you could tell me the exact number of times we have made love too."

"Four hundred and seventy six…" he smiled. "But that's not counting the time your dad caught us in his garage. We didn't finish."

She planted a small kiss on his neck in the same spot she had previously bit him. "You mean 'you' didn't finish." She whispered.

Jeremiah blushed slightly.

"So I guess that's you." He gestured towards the rounded cube.

Lisa nodded against his neck. "Um-humm."

"There's a lot going on there."

"Ummmm-hummmmmm!" she nodded again.

"Let me guess; you're a square because you think you're simple."

"I am art. Art is me." She replied.

"And the sides are rounded because you're… getting fat."

Another bite. A hard one.

"Ow. Joking!" He rubbed her belly again. "What's with all the different colors?"

"That's the baby."

"The baby is a swirl of colors?"

"No, the colors represent the universe; everything blended together it one perfect moment, thus creating life."

And again, Jeremiah tilted his head to one side and looked at the paint with a new perspective.

"I love it." He said finally. "We should hang it in the nursery, right over the crib. It might give him nightmares, but…"

Another bite, and a kiss.

"But why am I such a large… blob?" Jeremiah asked. "I take up almost all the canvas. Are you trying to give me a hint?"

Lisa moved to the front of the chair and sat sideways on his lap, her arms snaking around his neck and shoulders, her fingers running through his hair. She looked deeply into his soft green eyes and studied the lines and curves of his face.

"Because you are my world." She answered softly. "You are the foundation of this family. With out you… there would be now 'us'"?

And Jeremiah looked at her. Her cheek had a smear of green paint across it, her hair was matted with sweat, and she was wearing the same yellow smock she had been in for a week. But at that moment, as he was concerned; she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

He pulled her close, and kissed her deeply, and hoped the moment would last forever.

Jeremiah wiped the tears from his eyes.

The painting was hanging of the wall in front of him, twin overhead lights shining down on it. It was bordered by an elegant hand carved cherry-wood frame; deep roses, olive branches, grape vines, and hummingbirds. The frame was subtly enough that it didn't distract the eye from the art, but one could appreciate it nonetheless. At the bottom, in the center of the frame, on a small brass placard, were etched the words "Family Portrait".

Jeremiah had lost track of how long he had been sitting there, looking at it, the memories attached to it taking him back to happier times.

Behind him, on the other side of a two way mirror, Lois Lane-Kent was trashing wildly in a metal chair, but to no avail. The straps would hold her in place, of that, Jeremiah was certain. Nothing less than a very sharp blade would free her. Either that or breaking her wrist. Jeremiah was sure she didn't have a sharp blade, and was fairly certain she wasn't about to break her own wrist to be free.

In front of the mirror was a large oak desk, its surface covered with computer equipment; which included four monitors of various size, different information and screens displayed on each, three keyboards, a large Laptop, the screen saver, a thin line ricocheting of the sides displayed, and large electronic components of various use. There were also blueprints, dozens of sheets of paper scattered everywhere; complex mathematical equations scribbled on each, and a copy of the tram schedule for the Lex-Corp Hydro-Nuclear Power Plant Ferries and Trams.

Then there were the photographs.

Dozen of black and white photos of a man with messy black hair and thick black glasses; a woman with long black hair, usually holding a recording device at one press conference or another; and finally, photos of someone flying through the air from various distances, a triangulated "S" just visible in a few of the shots.

On the wall to the left, there was a bank of CPUs, six in all, the lights on all of them blinking and flashing rapidly.

Jeremiah had spent many nights in this room, many of which had been spent in front of the painting; his thoughts silently lost in its colors and tones; remembering the scent of her hair, the sensation of her lips and teeth on his neck, her fingers through his hair, the warmth of her skin, the firmness of her round belly, the weight of her in his lap, her mouth on his.

Hours had dissolved away in the nights past as he stood and stared at this, his "Family Portrait". And perhaps, he would have been content to stare at it a little longer, had not the lights suddenly gone out.


	39. Chapter 39

Superman was pulling one of the emergency lighting systems from the wall of the control room. "Are you sure about this?" he asked as he floated back down to the floor. He handed the large unit to Dr. Yamamoto.

"Absolutely." Dr. Yamamoto answered. He laid the device on the floor, lights facing downward, filling the room with twice as much shadow and gloom. He pulled a small pen sized screwdriver from his breast pocket and began unscrewing the casing.

Dr. Morales was of in one far corner of the room, a small screwdriver in her hand, working feverishly to unscrew a small piece of plating in the floor.

"These emergency lights run off battery packs." Yamamoto explained. "They are wired into the main system and when they sense a loss in power, they activate. I should be able to use the battery pack to power the control systems. It would be like powering a laptop computer. But the charge won't last very long."

"How long is not very long?" Davison asked. He was pacing back and forth on the far side of the room.

"Six to eight minutes." Yamamoto answered.

"And how will that help us?"

"Besides getting the doors open so we can get the hell out of here?" this from Dr. Mullen. He was sitting on his rear, his back flat against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him. He had removed his lab-coat and had it pillow-like behind his head.

There were two thunderous bangs, followed by the sound of steel plates crashing on top of one another.

Superman was standing in front on open archway were a moment before, two three inch thick security doors were firmly in place.

"You were saying?" He said flatly.

Everyone looked at him.

"Why didn't I think of that?" Mullen asked himself, getting to his feet.

"Thank you, Superman," Dr. Yamamoto began. "But there is another reason why we need to get the system powered. We may be able to stop the reactors."

"How?" Davison asked.

"If we can get the system online, then we may be able to do one of three things; start the cooling process, activate the control rods, or remove the fuel rods completely."

"Can any of that be done manually?" Superman asked.

"Not without power." Yamamoto answered. "The valves that control the coolant tanks are all electrical, as are the pistons that raise and lower the control rods. The fuel rods can be removed manually, but they each weigh over six-hundred pounds. The robotic arm is the only thing that can lift them."

Superman cleared his throat.

Dr. Yamamoto looked at him, blinked twice, and then slapped his hand to his forehead. "Of course! You're more than capable of removing the rods!" He got to his feet. "We need to go down to the reactor chambers and remove the fuel rods manually."

"Just tell me how to get there." Superman urged.

"I'm going with you." Dr. Yamamoto told him.

"I think it would be safer if you stayed." Superman answered firmly.

"Perhaps," Dr. Yamamoto went on. "But you have never been inside our reactors. You do not know how they work, how to remove them, were to place them once they are removed."

"You could just tell me how …"

"And I will," The small Asian man smiled. "As soon as we are inside the reactor chambers."

Superman looked at Agent Davison, who in turn, simply shrugged.

"Fine." Superman said at last.

"Well, you two get started with that." Dr. Mullen beamed, heading for the now open door. "I'm going to go upstairs and have a cigarette."

"You're not going anywhere." Dr. Morales shouted from the corner, pulling free the plate.

"Uh… yeah, I am!" Mullen shot back. "See the open door?" He gestured. "See me walking through it?" He took another step.

"She's right." Yamamoto stepped in front of him. "You still need to restore the power to the system."

"Why?" Mullen argued. "I though the plan was for the big guy here to remove the fuel rods with his bare hands!? Crisis adverted!"

"We both know that removing the fuel rods would stop a meltdown, but if the reactors are not shut down, they could still destroy the plant. The power build up could still cause catastrophic damage."

"Define 'catastrophic'." Davison said.

Yamamoto looked at him. "The explosion would be small; less than a megaton. The plant would be completely destroyed, but the blast wouldn't affect much of the city. Less than two percent, really. But, then again, we are built into the base of a dam.

Davison rolled his eyes and cursed. "So instead of all the water being flash fried and destroying the city and a steam blast, the dam will be destroyed and the water will destroy the city that way! Wonderful"

"Once I removed the fuel rods, how much time until the reactors go?" Superman asked.

"An hour, give or take five minutes."

"So were trading one problem for another." Davison sighed.

"No, Agent. We are buying time. Once the fuel rods are removed, we can focus on restoring control to the coolant systems. Once they are activated, the reactors can be cooled sufficiently, even if we can't turn off the reactors directly."

"And we're running out of time." Superman added.

"He's right." Yamamoto agreed.

Davison sighed. "Fine. You two get down to the reactors and remove those rods. You!" he pointed at Mullen. "You help her get those systems back up. Now!" he added when Mullen looked as if he was about to protest.

Dr. Yamamoto handed Mullen his screwdriver with a smile.

Mullen took it reluctantly.

Yamamoto turned to Superman. "Follow me." He said, and the others watched the two men disappear into the darkness of the corridor.

The "Scrub Room" was connected to the locker rooms, three levels directly below the control room. It was an arched room with a steel plate door leading in and clear polycarbonate door leading out into the plant access area. The arched ceiling of the room was about seven and a half feet high, and was lined with high pressure hoses and nozzles that pointed down into the area. Dr. Yamamoto had explained that whenever someone returned from a trip inside the reactor chambers, they first stopped in the room for decontamination. The nozzles sprayed a special chemical compound that neutralized any errant radiation and sanitized the radiation suits for future use.

Like the one Superman was currently wearing.

It was teal in color and looked exactly like any and every haz-mat suit Superman had ever seen, with only a few exceptions; the first being its weight.

"They are exactly sixty pounds each." Dr. Yamamoto told him. "They are made from a lead based polymer, and have a TPP (Thermal Protective Performance) rating of a hundred and ten. That means that the wearer can withstand being in a thousand degree environment for up the fifty-five seconds; exactly half the rating. The also have an internal cooling system, like the suit racecar drivers wear. Small tubes run through the suits interior, and a cooling gel is pumped through, similar to a car radiator. Unlike a firefighters' protective gear, these suits also protect from steam, and are flame retardant, as well as radiation proof. Each suit has its own power supply, which powers the short range radio, onboard computer, and Personal Sustainment System. The PSS controls the oxygen tanks that are built into the back of the suit, two tanks on each suit; each tank having a six hour supply of fresh oxygen. The O2 is also used to regulate the temperature inside the suit. The hotter it is outside, the cooler it gets inside. It also has pulse and heart monitors built into the gloves and chest. Under normal circumstances, we can monitor the health of anyone wearing a suit from inside the control room."

The second thing that was notably different was the helmets. Not as big or bulky as a normal hazmat suit, it was closer to an astronauts' helmet. It was round and doom-like, with a thick plastic substance making up the three-forth's of it.

"The helmet is composed primarily of the same special polymer the control room is made of." Yamamoto explained. "It's heat resistant up to three thousand degrees, and has a heads up display in the visor that allows the user to view their own vitals, a 3-D map overlay with range finder, and a monitoring system identical to the control room; which displays the external temperature and radiation levels of the area, as well as displays the suits remaining power levels. It also allows you to see the vitals and power levels of anyone wearing a suit inside your field of vision."

And while Superman had to admit the technology behind the suit was impressive, he had argued with Yamamoto about his need to wear one.

"Invulnerable." Superman had said plainly while Yamamoto suited up.

The older man just looked at him. "Have you ever been inside a Nuclear Reactor before?"

"Well… not exactly." Superman admitted.

"So your not one hundred percent sure you'll be able to withstand the radiation levels."

"I absorb radiation from the sun, which I'm sure has higher radiation levels than the reactor, so I'm pretty sure I'll be fine."

"Without the radios, you won't be able to hear me."

Superman tapped his ear. "Super hearing."

Dr. Yamamoto sighed. "Humor me. Please."

And reluctantly, Superman agreed.

They were now on the catwalk headed towards the reactors; Yamamoto in his protective suit, Superman in his.

Dr. Yamamoto looked at him. "Comfy?" he asked through the suits two way radios.

"Not really." Superman answered honestly.

And Dr. Yamamoto stopped nearly mid stride and stared at him. "Amazing." He gasped.

Superman stopped and looked at him. "What is it?"

"Your… Your vitals are… amazing" he repeated. Through his helmets HUD, and thanks to the sensors in Superman's protective suit, Dr. Yamamoto was looking at the Kryptonian physiology in a whole new light. "Your heart rate is at twenty-seven beats per minute. Your body temperature is one hundred and three! A normal person would both be near death and experiencing hallucinations under the same conditions!"

"Well," Superman began, looking out at the plant, thin green lines crossing his field of vision both horizontally and vertically. "I don't know about 'near death', but I am seeing things..." He looked at the one of the reactor chambers and the words "LXHNR2" hovered over the surface, the temperature next to it reading eight hundred and twenty-eight degrees. Beneath that were "CL- 000.00%" (Coolant Level) and finally, "PO- N/A". (Power Output) "Maybe we should hurry."

Dr. Yamamoto nodded. "We'll remove the fuel rod in reactor one first." Dr. Yamamoto explained as they proceeded. He reached the intersection and made a sharp right. Fifty yards later, they reached the access door the reactor chamber. Yamamoto stepped in front of Superman. There was a keypad there. It was dark and inactive. He turned and looked at the Man of Steel.

"It appears the keypad has lost power as well. Do you mind?" he said through the helmet.

Superman nodded. Yamamoto stepped to one side and Superman stepped forward, placing his hands on the door, and pushed. Hard.

With a groan of twisting metal, the four inch thick reinforced steel door swung inward, large chunks of metal falling to the floor and clattering loudly.

They stepped inside, and were immediately greeted by the immense heat. Like standing inside a blast furnace, the heat pressed in on them with actual physical weight.

Superman wasn't affected much by it, but even his invulnerable exterior registered the sensation.

The room was as he saw it on the large monitors in the control room: a large round space with a concaved floor, a platform running around the diameter of the room and another running through the center. The forest of control rods remained extended throughout the room, and the coolant was noticeably absent.

"The core is at eight hundred and forty-seven degrees." Dr. Yamamoto shouted, his heads up display relaying the information. "Radiation levels are moderate, but they're rising rapidly. We need to hurry!"

Superman nodded. He was suddenly in the center of the chamber, kneeling over the reactor core. "What do I do?"

Yamamoto was walking over towards him quickly. "First, you need to expose the core by carefully sliding the panel to the side."

Again, Superman nodded. He placed his gloved hand on the surface of the core. The metal was coarse and hard and warm to his touch, which made him place the surface temperature at nearly a thousand degrees.

He found the seam and he tightened his grip slightly. The metal warped and bent under the strength of his grip. He slid it sideways, hearing gears grind and crunch as he pushed.

He could now see the fuel rod below. It emitted a soft amber glow.

"Now…" Dr. Yamamoto shouted nervously. "Carefully, CAREFULLY, turn the rod casing counter clockwise for seven complete revolutions. Make sure you don't damage the casing; at this temperature the rod is fragile and may brake."

And carefully, Superman twisted the casing counter clockwise and soon completed seven full revolutions. The casing was free.

Superman pulled the casing out easily. The three foot rod slid free, the glow beginning to fade almost immediately.

"Excellent!" Yamamoto shouted. "The temperature is still rising, but at only fourteen percent the previous rate. Good work Superman!"

"What about the rod?" he asked.

"There." Yamamoto pointed to a large panel in the upper of the side of the dome. Superman floated up to it quickly. "Slid the panel up and there's a storage unit on the other side."

Again, reinforced steel and lead twisted under his grip. He slid the panel up and saw a cluster of fuel rods housed in some type of honeycomb like container on the other side. There was one empty slot. He slid the rod into the slot, its glow nearly completely faded. He then pulled the panel back into place, and floated back down to the floor.

"The radiation levels are lowering." Yamamoto reported as Superman neared. He looked at him through the thick plastic of his helmet. "One down." He beamed. "One to go!"

They left the reactor. Superman pulled the door closed, wedging it in the frame and securing it tightly. As they made their way toward the second reactor chamber, Superman allowed himself a small smile, and was filled with hope that this nightmare was almost. If the removing of the second core was as easy as the first, then Metropolis would be saved without bringing the power back online and he could then focus on something of equal importance. His mind turned to Lois. Somewhere, she was trapped and helpless, and waiting for him to save her. He only hoped he would get the chance to do so.


	40. Chapter 40

Lois was as still as a statue.

She didn't move. She didn't blink. She was even holding her breath.

The lights had been off for at least thirty seconds.

The room was pitch-black. Lois could no longer see the floor to ceiling room length mirrors. She couldn't see the camera or the floor lamps. So couldn't make out the contours of the foam covering the walls and ceiling. In fact, she couldn't have seen her hand if it was an inch from her face.

There was only darkness.

Lois silently waited for one of three things to happen; to get shocked; for Jeremiah to come in and subject her to some other horrible cruelty; or for the lights to just simply come back on.

And as the seconds ticked by, nothing happened. No shocks. No Jeremiah. No lights.

Lois exhaled.

Her mind was racing frantically. If Jeremiah was watching her before, this sudden darkness was the opportunity she needed to free herself. He couldn't see her make her escape.

The only question was how.

In the time Lois had spent testing the restraints, she realized one indisputable fact: her hands were too big to slip the straps.

There was no chance of freeing her right hand. The strap was too tight and she didn't have any leverage or play between her wrist and the leather.

Her left hand had a little play, but still not enough to snake free. She wouldn't get her hand past the strap without breaking something in the process.

And the second she thought it was the second she decided to do it.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

And she pulled.

With every muscle in her strained, tired, exhausted arm, Lois tried to pull her small, delicate, dainty, left hand out from under a thick leather strap.

And she broke her thumb.

There was a loud snap in the blinding darkness of the room, followed by a blood curdling scream of agony.

Tears erupted from her eyes as the pain shot up her arm, but still she pulled.

She pulled and screamed and cried and tugged and wiggled and screamed some more.

And finally, in a final act of utter desperation, her hand slipped free.

Lois cried silently through labored breaths as she pulled her aching appendage to her chest. Her entire left arm was one big ache that throbbed with every beat of her heart.

She tested her dexterity. Her fingers all moved normally, albeit, sore and tender.

Her thumb was destroyed. The metacarpal was broken and the metacarpal joint was completely dislocated. She tried to move it and felt nothing but pain.

Lois steadied herself quickly, whispering " _The hard parts over."_ in her head. " _Now for the rest of the straps."_

And with four fingers and a broken thumb, Lois Lane-Kent began freeing herself.

Jeremiah was cursing silently to himself.

 _"How could I have forgotten to activate the generator?"_ he thought to himself.

He was walking down a thin hall that ran beside the small room that held his captor, a small beam of light illuminating his path. " _At least I didn't forget the flashlight."_

In fact, he did remember the small flashlight, but took several minutes to locate it in the darkness and the clutter of his desk drawers. Now, torch in hand, he was making his way down the hall to restore the power.

He stopped next to the door that lead into the sound proof room and placed his head close to it. He could just make out the faintest sound of screaming coming from the other side.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of the dark…" he whispered to himself, knowing Lois couldn't hear him.

He continued down the hall and headed left at the first junction. At the end of that corridor, nestled in the corner, was a large gas generator. Jeremiah knelt beside it and pressed a small rubber button to prime the engine three times, and then pulled on the lawnmower style ignition cord.

It took him four tries, but finally, the engine roared to life in a small cloud of exhaust and the stench of gasoline.

The lights blinked a few times and slowly returned to life.

Jeremiah clicked off the flashlight and set off back down the corridor. The first order of business: getting his computers back up and running.

The lack of power had concerned him for three reasons: One, the monitoring program he was running that allowed him to "listen" in on all emergency chatter and updates, including everyone from the MPD and the MFD, to the FBI and MHD. When the power went out, it left him blind and deaf as far as they were concerned.

The second reason was his need to maintain power to his laptop. The batteries gave him up to three hours of life, but nevertheless, he wanted to ensure nothing happened to the programs running on it; specifically, the redirect program. It ensured that the transmission he had broadcast earlier could never be traced, but would appear to have originated from a seemingly endless series of satellite relays.

The final reason was the Psionic Dampeners. As long as they were activated, no telepath could detect their thoughts and pinpoint their location, and while he wasn't sure how telepathy worked, he was certain that the few minutes it took him to restore the power wasn't enough for anyone to find them.

He was back at his desk in moments, powering up the CPUs and turning the monitors back on.

It wasn't until after he checked to make sure the redirect program was still running uninterrupted that he realized the sound proof room was still bathed in darkness. The floor lamps that had previously illuminated the space were off.

Jeremiah cursed again and snatched up his flashlight.

And as he walked down the hall towards the locked door, a sense of dread fell over him.

Jeremiah thought about Lois, and the smile she had given him.

A chill ran down his spine.

 _"Pull it together!"_ he told himself. " _Just go in and turn the lamps back on. She's tied to a chair and completely helpless. What's the worst she can do?"_


	41. Chapter 41

As Superman and Dr. Yamamoto neared the entrance hatch to reactor two, Superman felt a breeze through his mind.

 _"Superman."_ The voice whispered.

Superman stopped walking. _"J'onn?"_ he thought back. " _What is it_?"

 _"It's Lois."_

Superman's heart began to beat faster. Dr. Yamamoto turned and looked at him then. In his HUD, he saw Superman's heart rate double.

" _What's wrong?_ " Superman asked mentally.

" _A few moments ago, I was able to sense her. It was brief, but she was in great pain. Then, I sensed both fear and relief. I was unable to communicate with her, or determine her precise location, but I was able to narrow it down a bit. She is in Metropolis, but where exactly I do not know. Unfortunately, as quickly as she appeared to me, she his since vanished once again. I have been trying to re-establish a connection but to no avail. I will nevertheless continue my efforts."_

Superman let out a slow breath. " _Thank you, J'onn_." He replied. " _Let me know if you find anything else."_

And just like that, the sensations of soft wind through his mind faded.

"Are you alright?" Dr. Yamamoto asked.

While to Superman, he had just had a complete, albeit brief, conversation, to Dr. Yamamoto, someone who could not hear the bass laden voice of the Martian Manhunter, Superman appeared to be just standing there, frowning.

"I'm fine." Superman answered, continuing forward.

Dr. Yamamoto didn't press the issue, rather followed close behind him.

They reached the hatch and Superman placed his gloved hands against the warm steel of the door. "Once we remove this fuel rod, are you certain that the power won't come back on?" he asked.

Yamamoto hesitated. "Mathematically, yes, but to be completely honest," he admitted. "I'm not sure of much at the moment. So much has happened that should not have. All I know for sure is that we must do what we can to ensure the safety of the city, and right now, the fuel rod poses the most treat. We will have to deal with the other problems as they arise."

Superman frowned. In his mind, he knew the small scientist was right; the fuel rod was the greatest threat. But in his heart, well, how could he explain that a small part of him was ready to sacrifice and entire city to save the woman he loved.

Without a word, Superman pushed hard on the door. It swung open, metal bits of broken lock falling from it. They stepped inside the chamber.

It was exactly identical to the other one, with one exception; it was a lot hotter. Through his visors HUD, Superman could see the temperature had surpassed twelve hundred degrees and was rising quickly.

"Why is it so much hotter in this chamber than the other?" Superman asked as he made his way to the center of the chamber and the core.

"I'm not sure." Yamamoto answered looking around. "These reading don't make any sense. The temperature is rising much faster, but oddly enough, the radiation levels are much lower than they should be, even for normal circumstances. It's as if the uranium is completely depleted. But that's not possible."

"Well, whatever it is, hopefully it'll stop after we remove the fuel rod." Superman urged.

He knelt down beside the small hatch, Dr. Yamamoto at his side. He pushed the panel to one side gently, and exposed the core.

A soft emerald glow filled the room then.

"My God." Yamamoto gasped.

"Why is this one green?" Superman asked.

"That's not Uranium." Yamamoto answered.

And with a chill and eyes wide with shock and fear, Superman realized what it was as well.

"Kryptonite." He breathed.

He shrank away from it instinctively; raise his hands to shield his face and eyes, and falling back on his rear in the process.

"Superman!?" Yamamoto shouted. "Are you alright?"

And sitting on the metal walkway inside the reactor, his hands in front of his face protectively, waiting for the familiar sensations of nausea, dizziness, and immense fatigue to over come him, Superman realized that, yes, he was in fact "alright".

He opened his eyes, and slowly lowered his hands. Curiously, he leaned forward and looked at the bright green rod inside the reactor.

Nothing happened. He didn't feel anything.

"I'm… I'm fine." He said finally. "It must be the suit. The lead shielding is protecting me from the kryptonite."

Dr. Yamamoto sighed and placed a gloved had over his pounding chest. "Thank God." He whispered. Superman's HUD showed the man's heart pounding away at frantic one hundred and thirty-two bpm's.

Superman let Yamamoto help him back to his feet and the two stood looking down at the bright green fuel rod.

"Why in heavens name do you have a Kryptonite fuel rod?" Superman asked.

"We don't!" Yamamoto answered. "Someone must have somehow snuck it into the plant; into the storage unit. Kryptonite is too unstable for the reaction process. No facility in the world uses it. I wonder where it came from." He looked at the readings in his HUD. "This explains the strange readings; the temperature and the low radiation levels. Kryptonite emits almost no radiation compared to Uranium, but the unstable properties would make the molecules excite much faster, causing a considerably higher thermal output." His HUD told him the internal temperature of the core just past seventeen hundred degrees and was still rising. "We must hurry." He urged.

Again, Superman knelt down and began to carefully turn the casing in a counter-clockwise motion.

"It's a good think I'm wearing this suit…" Superman said softly as he twisted. "I'm not sure what would happen to me under these conditions."

Two things happened almost at once.

First there was the loud, thunderous bang of a heavy metal object being dropping on reinforced steel.

And second, Dr. Yamamoto flew through the air and crashed into the far wall. A loud crunch accompanied the bone crushing impact. Dr. Yamamoto slid to the floor and didn't move.

Superman was on his feet suddenly, looking up at something that made his Kryptonian blood run cold.

" _No. No. No!_ " he thought to himself. " _Not him! Not now!"_

Standing before him, his chest cavity already exposed, his heart of Kryptonite glowing brightly, was the metal menace, Metallo.

"Yeah," his electronic voice boomed through the chamber. "It's a good thing you're wearing that suit. It'll make this a helluva lot more fun!"

And with that, Metallo punched Superman with all his might.


	42. Chapter 42

Jeremiah was shaking slightly as he unlocked the door leading into the sound proof room. He pulled the key free, twisted the knob, and pushed the door in. The rooms pitch black interior seemed to rush to greet him.

He turned on his flashlight and slowly swept the room from the doorway. The circle of light moved sideways, falling almost immediately on the metal chair at the center of the room.

It was vacant.

Jeremiah froze.

His first instinct was to close and lock the door. "Let _her hide in the darkness if she wants_." he told himself. The idea was appealing. So appealing that he grabbed the door handle and began to pull it closed.

" _But if she's not in the chair, then all this will be for nothing!"_ he reasoned. _"Superman will shut down the reactors and then it'll just be a matter of time before he finds this place. If she's alive when he gets here, than all of this, everything, would be meaningless. He has to learn the lesson!"_

Jeremiah stepped into the darkness.

"Lois." He called out softly as he moved further into the room. "I know you're in here. There's no where to go, Lois. Even if you make it out this room, you're still trapped. There's only one way in our out and I have the only key."

Jeremiah was taking slow, cautious steps as he spoke, the beam of the flashlight sweeping back and forth.

"And your husband; Superman." He went on. "He can't save you. Even if he wasn't busy trying to save the entire city, he wouldn't even know where to look. And even if he did, he still wouldn't find us. The Martian can't hear your thoughts. The Batman can't use any of his gadgets to sniff us out. It's just you and me, Lois. So why don't you come out so we can talk about this."

Something moved to his left.

Jeremiah had a split second to turn; just enough time to see the light catch the edge of the base of the lamp before it smashed into the side of his face.

The force of the blow knocked him to his hands and knees, the pain sudden and all consuming.

The flashlight fell from his hands and skidded across the floor, spinning as it went, throwing light randomly throughout the room.

Jeremiahs vision swam and he was slightly disoriented. Blood dripped onto the floor below him. His blood. He touched his head were the lamp had struck him and pulled back crimson finger tips.

Something moved in front of him, the spinning light catching it for a second.

Lois reared back and kicked him hard across the face, his mouth suddenly filling with the metallic copper taste. His teeth chattered with the impact.

He fell onto his side and she was on him.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" she screamed. The first punch caught him in the eye, white spots exploding into his vision. The second punch broke his nose. He tried to breathe and spit blood.

"I TRUSTED YOU!" Lois screamed as she rained punches down on him, battering his face and neck wildly. Dazed and disoriented, it was all Jeremiah could do to raise his hands and attempt to protect his face. But still, she screamed, and spit, cried, and yelled, and attacked him relentlessly; her every statement punctuated by a hammering blow.

"MY FATHER WAS AN ARMY GENERAL!"

 _PUNCH._

"I VACATION WITH WONDER WOMAN ON AN ISLAND FILLED WITH AMAZON WORRIORS!"

 _PUNCH._

"I JOG WITH THE FASTEST MAN ALIVE!"

 _PUNCH._

"I GET SELF-DEFENSE LESSON FROM BATMAN!"

 _PUNCH._

"AND I AM MARRIED TO THE MOST POWERFUL BEING ON THE PLANET!"

 _PUNCH._

"I AM NOT THE VICTIM!"

 _PUNCH._

"I!"

 _PUNCH._

"AM NOT!"

 _PUNCH._

"HELPLESS!"

 _PUNCH. PUNCH. PUNCH._

Lois pounded him until her arm was too heavy to lift; until her right hand was nothing but a throbbing ache, until her chest was burning and her throat was raw, and it hurt to even think about hitting him again.

And that's when she grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him up from the floor slightly, and with a scream of frustration, pain, and intense rage, she head-butted him right between the eyes.

She reeled back, releasing him, his head bouncing of the stone floor. Her own head was throbbing, her vision swimming slightly.

She sat straddling him then, looking down at his bloody, bruised, swollen visage. One of his eyes were nearly swollen shut, his nose was flat and bent at an odd angle. Blood was running freely from his mouth and busted lips, and every time he exhaled, a small bubble of blood formed and popped in the corner of his mouth.

Lois was sobbing. She was splattered with blood and covered with sweat. The adrenaline was fading and the pain in her thumb returned with a vengeance. Her entire body ached. She could barely move. Even so, she pushed away from Jeremiahs still form, careful not to use her left hand, and got to her feet.

She limped towards the door and the light beyond. Her bare foot was aching and she thought she might have sprained her ankle when she kicked him in the face.

She paused in the doorway and looked back at the man that was her captor. He laid there, bathed half in the darkness and half in the beam of the flashlight. His chest was rising and falling very slowly. His head was rolling from side to side, his eye fluttering open, and then closed again. He was moaning and trying to speak, but the words were inaudible do to the fluid in his mouth.

Lois spit at him, and closed the door behind her.


	43. Chapter 43

Superman sailed across the chamber and hit the rounded wall with a thunderous crash, the lead lined reinforced steel stretching and molding to his frame. He fell away from the wall and hovered in the air, looking down at his foe.

John Corben was a small-time con man who was fatally injured in a car crash, but to his luck Professor Emmet Vale, a pioneer in robotics, happened to pass by. Vale believed that Superman was the first in a wave of super-powered Kryptonian invaders; and in a hope to destroy the Man of Steel, Vale transplanted Corben's brain into a robotic body made of a super-dense metallic allow, Metallo. Powered by a two-pound chunk of kryptonite located in the center of the torso; his brain hermetically sealed inside a shielded alloy skull with its own power supply; Metallo's sheer strength and limitless endurance has allowed him to remain a constant thorn in Superman's side.

"You're not going to float up there all night, are you?" the metal monster asked, his slight British accent seeping into his electronically projected voice.

"Where's Lois!?" Superman shouted.

Metallo shrugged. "How should I know?"

"You kidnapped her!"

"Afraid not." Metallo admitted. "To be honest, I don't have anything to do with Lois, or anything else that's happened over the last few days."

"Then why are you here?"

"Are you kidding?" If the twisted metallic features of Metallo's face could move, they would have been spread wide in an evil smile. "When I heard that news that Metropolis was going to burn, how could I miss it? I knew that eventually, you would find your way to the reactors. I even tapped into the control room programs and help the progress along."

"You're behind the systems crash?"

Metallo raised a large metal hand. "Guilty as charged. You can't imagine how easy it was to sneak in here; the place was practically deserted when I arrived. One simple interface into the security terminals and the rest was a walk in the park. And after the power was cut, I though I was going to have to attack you directly, but low and behold, the power kicked back on and the reactors started running again. I saw a strange line of coding inside the restart program while I was crashing the system. Whoever put that there was pretty smart. I didn't really understand what it was for until I realized he had to know how you'd try to stop the melt down. Looks like he was one step ahead of you… I was a little worried at first; I though they would send one of the other technicians down here, but who else could lift such heavy fuel rods. And you did not disappoint me. And imagine me delight when I discovered that the fuel rod was made of Kryptonite! Not only will the core reach critical all the faster, but the errant radiation is giving me quite the power boost." He raised his hands and clinched them into fists.

"Metallo, if this reactor goes, millions of people will die." Superman pleaded.

"But not me. And not you. But let's see if I can change that last part." He crouched low, his servos and motors spinning frantically. "I don't even care if you beat me, just as long as I make sure you fail and Metropolis burns. Doesn't mean we can't have a little fun in the meantime, though."

Metallo launched himself forward like a missile. Superman dodged the attack easily, Metallo's immense fist slamming into the steel wall and severely denting it.

Superman was on the other side of the chamber then, hovering a few yards above the floor.

"You're not going to stop me, Metallo. That rock you call a heart isn't affecting me. I'm not going to lose my powers."

Metallo was hanging from the wall, his hand gripping the bent metal of the impression he had just created. His feet were against the wall and he was looking back at Superman. "You will once I peel that suit off you!"

And again, he launched himself across the room, covering the span of fifty feet in less than a second.

And again, Superman dodged easily.

Metallo chased him, clinging to the wall in a spider like fashion, clamoring after him on all fours, the barbed tips of his fingers and toes digging into the lead lined surface.

The two danced through the chamber; Metallo hurtling himself at Superman repeatedly, and every time, Superman dodging the attack.

"Are you planning on running from me all night?" Metallo asked. "I thought you were supposed to be a hero. Shouldn't you be trying to fight the bad guy?"

"This isn't you, Metallo. Mass destruction isn't your thing. What do you get from all this?

"Besides seeing your face after the city you love is reduced to ash and rubble, all the lives lost, all the destruction, and knowing I was all that stood between you and saving the city… that's pretty much it. I'm a simple man."

"But why? Why this? Why now?"

"Because I've still haven't beaten you yet. No matter what I do, or how strong I get, you still find a way to win; either with the help of your friends or through some random act of luck, you always get the better of me. I'm starting to think I can't beat you."

He lunged again and again Superman dodged.

"So I started thinking;" Metallo continued. "If I can't beat you, maybe I can help someone else beat you. We both know that a meltdown wouldn't kill you, but it would break you. It would destroy you if you failed to save this city. It would be like ripping your heart out, something I've dreamed of doing for a long time."

"Corben, please…" Superman began.

"My God!" Metallo snapped. "Are you really going to try to talk me into submission? I admit, if I have to listen to you beg, I may just rip out my auditory receptors." His robotic eyes scanned the room. "What we need is a little motivation."

And he launched himself forward again, but this time, not at Superman.

And Superman realized too late what he was aiming for.

Dr. Yamamoto.

The readings on Superman's HUD told him the technician was still alive, albeit, barely. His heart rate was extremely low, and skipped beats sporadically. He was dying. If Metallo got his metal hands on the small man, it would be all the sooner.

This time, Superman launched himself forward, faster than a speeding bullet.

He slammed into Metallo just as his barbed fingertips brushed the material of Dr. Yamamoto's protective suit.

The speed and force sent them both into the reactor wall, which actually cracked under the tremendous blow.

Superman pinned Metallo to the wall, his gloved hands wrapped around metal wrists, his legs pinning a metallic frame.

"Now this is more like it." Metallo laughed. "Up close and personal! How about a kiss?" and his head shot forward and his metal teeth snapped at the visor of Superman's helmet. Superman moved his head to one side, narrowly avoiding the attack.

"Give it up, Metallo." He barked. "I'm stronger and faster than you. As long as I'm inside this suit, you don't have a chance!"

"Well, then… We'll just have to fix that."

Metallo's ribcage morphed. The curved bars that made up his ribs pulled away from the center section, or sternum; revealing sharp tips. They shot forward.

Superman was forced to push away, least his suit be skewered. He was forced to release Metallo's wrist.

He was so focused on the pointed ribs, he didn't see the metallic fist flying towards his head.

The blow rocked his head back and cracked his helmet.

Superman was sent sailing again, but this time, Metallo launched himself forward and overtook him, grabbing his ankle and flinging him to the ground.

Superman crashed into raised forest of control rods, his weight and speed breaking and bending them as he slid across the curved floor.

Metallo was on top of him then, his metallic fist raining down frantically.

Cracks snaked across the helmet like spider webs. A few more blows, and it would shatter.

Superman's hand found one of the control rods. The other caught one of Metallo's fists as it rocketed towards his face. He then swung the rod and batted Metallo across the face, the force of the blow sending him flying.

Superman shot up after him, flying past him in a blur of speed, and used the rod to bat him back down.

Metallo smashed face first into the floor, sending rods flying in shattered chunks.

Superman dived, smashing his knee into the metallic spine of his advisory. He then grabbed one of Metallo's flailing arms and pinned it behind his back, quickly bending the control rob around his wrist. He then grabbed the other arm, pulled it to meet the other, and wrapped the rest of the control rod around the second wrist a la handcuffs.

Before his foe could protest, he grabbed another control rod and quickly bound his legs at the ankles.

Metallo struggled to free himself. "I didn't know you were into bondage, Superman. Kinky!"

Superman stood over him. "That should hold you long enough for me to remove the fuel rod."

He floated up to the platform. His visor was all but destroyed, the HUD flickered wildly. But even still, he could see that the temperature of the chamber was up to nearing two thousand degrees.

He knelt over the core and began twisting the casing.

The thudding sound of metal meeting metal made him look up and over his shoulder.

Metallo was hoping towards him. Fast.

Superman stood just in time for Metallo to slam into him with the force of a Mack truck. The power forced Superman back several feet before he regained his footing. He grabbed Metallo and flung him up into the roof of the chamber, the pipes and vents there crushed under his metal body.

Unfortunately, the force of the impact shattered the control rods that held Metallo bound, and as he fell back down, he cocked his arm back, posed to deliver a punch.

Superman saw it coming. He caught Metallo's fist and arm, twisted at the hips, and flung the metal man across the room like a Frisbee. Metallo hit the wall with a thud and before he could regain his footing, Superman was on him. He grabbed his ankle and lifted him, swung him over his head, and slammed him into the floor like a ragdoll. The entire chamber shook.

He lifted him again, twisted, and slammed Metallo into the wall like a hammer.

And again, the chamber shook.

Finally, he twisted once more, and flung Metallo across the room as hard as he could.

The metal of the wall seemed to mold to Metallo's frame like foam rubber as he collided.

There was the shrieking sound of metal tearing, and Superman shot across the room, the reactor door firmly in his grip. He snatched up a control rod as he went, and slammed into Metallo, and the wall, the door between them.

He reared back and slammed the control rod through the corner of the door and into the wall beneath. He then snapped it, and repeated the process in the doors other corner, then again in the lower corner, and a final time in the remaining corner.

He had effectively nailed Metallo to the wall.

Metallo looked at his restraints. "Impressive." He said. "But you know this won't hold me for long."

"It'll hold you long enough." Superman said, pushing away from him.

"You're forgetting one thing." Metallo mused.

Superman raised an eyebrow.

"My hand is free!"

Superman looked down and saw the metallic fist clutching the front of his protective suit. And before he could pry the cold fingers from his front, the fist rotated at the wrist seven hundred and twenty degrees.

The material tore away like tissue paper.

Superman staggered away from the wall, the nausea and dizziness hitting him like a wave. The room was suddenly spinning and beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Superman fought the urge to vomit and tried to make his way back to the core.

"Hey, Superman…" Metallo called out. "You don't look so good. You should sit down and rest for a second." Shrill laughter followed.

Superman was walking in a zigzag. His legs felt heavy and far away, and the reactor chamber suddenly seemed ten times larger.

" _Come on…"_ he pushed himself. " _Almost… there…_ "

The core was beneath him. He didn't so much as kneel; rather he collapsed to his knees under his own weight.

He looked down at the glowing rod, bathed in its emerald shine.

He leaned forward and the world swam. He fell to his palms and was barely able to support his own weight. Sweat dripped from his face and pooled in his helmet.

He tried to take a deep breathe, and swallowed bile.

He reached for the casing, which suddenly seemed to be at the bottom of a well. His gloved fingers wrapped around the handle and he began to twist.

Nothing happened.

He tried again, and again, it didn't budge.

Superman took a breath, held it, and with everything in him, he twisted the casing. He managed a half-turn.

And Superman collapsed, his energy gone.

He laid there and tried to relearn how to move.

And faintly, as if from somewhere far away, he heard the sound of groaning metal, followed by a loud thud.

A few moments later, Superman was airborne, but not of his own accord.

Metallo held him a foot off the ground by the front of the remains of his protective suit. He slowly pulled him close, the metal skeleton he called a face and emerald eyes filling Superman's failing vision.

"Metropolis is about to be destroyed and you are about to die." His electronic voice echoed throughout the chamber. "Today is a good day!"


	44. Chapter 44

The hall was bathed in shadows and dark corners.

The lights were small bulbs hanging from short strips of electrical wire, running the length of the hall, and placed at odd intervals. Pipes ran along the ceiling, obstructing the light in some areas. Then, about twenty feet down, the hall split to the left and right.

Lois looked down the hall. To her immediate left, another hall snaked around the side of the sound proof room and disappeared to the left.

Lois took the hall in front of her, limping as she went. Halfway down, she noticed a large boiler to her left and an old furnace on her right, both secured behind old rusty chain link fences, the tops of each stopping about two feet or so from the ceiling. She reached the "T" and turned right, and few yards later, it dead ended at a cinderblock wall. There was a large gas generator on the floor to her right, and large gas drum next to it.

Lois turned around.

The next hall went straight for a few yards, turned left, a few more yards and went right, dead ending a few yards ahead. There were a flight of stairs leading up. Lois grabbed the rail, favoring her left side drastically. She climbed slowly, each step up sending aching shockwaves through her.

The ceiling was roughly ten feet up, a long rectangular metal plate recessed into it. Lois reached the plate, and pushed against it.

It didn't budge.

She tried again, with the same results. She took another step up on the stairs, and awkwardly placed her back and shoulder against the plate and pushed with every muscle between her legs and back, straining and grunting and trying with everything she had.

And still, it didn't budge.

She pulled away panting. Her right fist pounded the door in frustration. "HELP ME!" she screamed. "SUPERMAN! ANY BODY! I'M DOWN HERE! HEEEELLLPP!

There was no answer.

Lois rested there for a moment, awkwardly perched on the stairs, her head and shoulders nestled oddly against the steel plate. She was breathing heavy and sweating profusely. She was tired and her entire body was a constant, droning ache.

"C'mon Lane" she whispered to herself. "Don't give up. If there's a way in, there's a way out! Suck it up! Every cage has a key!"

And slowly, she descended the stairs.

She rested another moment at the bottom before she set off back down the hall. She reached the junction and turned left, the door to the sound proof room at the end of the hall in front of her.

She slowly drew closer to it, her pulse speeding slightly. She wasn't sure why, but an uneasy sense of dread was creeping over her.

The door was slightly cracked.

Lois held her breath and inched closer. The light from the hall slipped through the crack and cut across the dark interior of the room, an inch wide line of light playing across the floor. She leaned close to the crack, peering inside.

And there, on the stone floor, was a small pool of drying blood, and nothing else.

Lois cursed.

She pushed away from the door and placed her back against the wall. Her heart was suddenly in her throat and pounding loudly. She swallowed and was instantly reminded of how raw and sore it was. Her mind was racing frantically; trying desperately to figure a way out.

Jeremiah was free, somewhere here in the darkness, more than likely searching for a way to even the odds. She was trapped, presumable underground, with no idea how to get out. Her thumb was broken, her ankle was sprained, and her entire body ached. She was tried, hungry, and wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep for a month.

And even though everything inside her told her to run and find a nice place to hide, she took slow, unsteady steps down the hall, moving as quietly as she could.

The hall ran the length of the sound proof room, and as she reached the corner, she could here the sound of drawers opening and closing loudly.

She inched towards the edge of the wall and peeked around the corner; just in time to see Jeremiah pull the 32mm revolver from the drawer, turn, and fire two rounds at her head.

Lois ducked back just as the corner of the wall exploded in a hail of plaster and wood. She spun and took off down the hall, her run a limping gait. She reached the other intersection and another few rounds careened of the wall next to her, missing by only inches.

Lois had a split second to choose; the darkness of the sound proof room would provide relative safety; but a lock of the door and she would be trapped again. The halls lead to dead ends and offered little protection; but she could maneuver, and maybe, if she was lucky, she could get the drop him.

She made her choice as another round shot past her.


	45. Chapter 45

Superman had once explained to Batman that, for him, exposure to Kryptonite was seemingly a "Lose/Lose" situation. The first thing he explained was that it didn't matter how much or how little he was exposed to; it could be sliver the size of a grain of rice, or a mound the size of Mt. Everest; the effects were the same. The only difference was the effective range. The smaller the source, the closer he'd have to be to feel the effects, the larger, and the further away he could be and still be affected.

The other side of that was it didn't matter how much of it his body was exposed to it. He could be in a lead suit holding a one pound rock of Kryptonite. Cut a hole the size of a penny into the suit and he'd feel it, just as much as he would if he was standing naked in a kryptonite shower.

The effects were always the same: his powers just slowly drained away. His strength, his speed, heat vision, x-ray vision, flight, etc.; they all just seemed to slowly fade until they were gone. Within the first few minutes, he still had access to nearly all his abilities, but they were considerably reduced. After three minutes; he could only hover, his heat vision could barely start a fire, lifting a small car took tremendous effort, his speed was all but gone, and his other vision's were lost. Five minutes and he could barely jump let alone fly, his heat vision was little more than a burning sensation in his eyes, he could barely manage to lift his own arms, let alone a ton, and his super-breathe wouldn't have been enough to blow out a match.

His invulnerability was similar, but with a few exceptions. First off, Kryptonian physiology varied from human physiology; Kryptonian molecules were naturally denser. His invulnerability wasn't so much due to his exposure to yellow sun radiation, as much as a result of his natural structure. And while the exposure to Earths yellow sun significantly boosted his body's dexterity and resistance to harm, the elements, and nearly every other form of external influence; he was still extremely tough in comparison to a normal person. He could absorb more damage, survive longer in extreme conditions, and his bones were harder to break.

The second exception was that his invulnerability was always the last thing to fade. Even after five minutes of constant exposure to kryptonite, he could still withstand a blast from a high powered shotgun at close range with little more than a bruise.

Recovering from exposure was a little tricky to explain. The moment he was either out of range of the kryptonite, or completely shielded from its radiation, his powers came back on line, but at a significantly reduced rate. Flight, heat vision, strength; everything worked, but at a reduction that was directly relative to the amount of exposure he sustained.

Basically, the longer he was exposed, the weaker he was when his powers came back online. After five minutes of exposure, his powers returned at twenty-five percent their effectiveness. They would increase gradually, but it would take time.

Conversely, exposure to Yellow sun radiation or yellow sun UV rays significantly increased the healing process. Bruises faded in seconds, bones mended in minutes, cuts healed and vanished without so much as a scar in record time.

The upside to it all? When Metallo lived up to his word and tore the suit from his limp body, it didn't make things much worse. The downside? When Superman depicted how he was affected by kryptonite, he never took into consideration a kryptonite fuel rod in a nuclear core.

He'd never felt anything like it, the remains of the Stangin Institute the possible exception.

It was like his body was on fire. Sweat was dripping from his skin. He felt like he was both freezing on the inside and roasting on the outside. His vision was blurry, he wanted to vomit with every breath, and his arms and legs felt like they each weighed a ton.

And that was without Metallo punching him repeatedly.

Every blow landed with the force of a freight train at high speed. Superman's face was a swollen mass of flesh. His eyes refused to focus, his jaw was fractured, if not broken, and blood trickled from his nose.

And he was completely helpless to fight back.

Metallo punched him again. "I have to admit," the metal skull spoke. "I'm a little disappointed in you, Superman. I thought you'd put up more of a fight."

"L-let's… take… it… outside… T-t-then… we'll… see…" Superman whispered.

Metallo actually laughed. "Nice try, but I like it in here." He punched him again, the blow shaking the reactor. "It's roomy." He punched him again. "It's private." And again. "And the acoustics are amazing!" He punched him four times in rapid succession. "You hear that?" he joked. "It's like an opera house! Plus, we have front row seats to the end of Metropolis!"

"Not… just… Metropolis…" Superman struggled to speak. "H-h-half… the… country… T-the… kryptonite..."

"Even better!" Metallo beamed. He rose to his full height, standing over his enemy. "The last time we faced off," he began. "I was lucky to escape intact. You really did a number on me. I've been dreaming about returning the favor."

He reared back and kicked Superman like a ball, and like a ball, Superman sailed through the room and crashed into the wall.

Superman grabbed his stomach and rolled to his back, the wind completely knocked out of him. He tried to breathe and coughed blood.

"But don't worry," he spoke as he approached. "I'm not going to kill you, at least, not right away. I'm going to wait until after the fireworks! When half the nation is a charred ruin, a post apocalyptic wasteland, when every ones else is dead and dust, when you realized how completely and utterly you have failed, and when I have heard the sweat sound of your breaking heart. That's when I will end you life, Superman. That's when I will have my revenge."

Metallo reached down and grabbed Superman up by his hair, pulled him into the air, and held him a foot off the ground. Blood was dripping from his mouth, his eyes fluttered open and closed, and his breathing was raspy and labored.

"I just hope you survive long enough, but if not… no biggie!"

And then the shooting started.

The first two bullets hit the back of Metallo's metal skull, the third, forth and fifth bounced off his back and spine.

Without moving his body, Metallo's head swiveled one-hundred and eighty degrees, his emerald eyes falling on the lone figure standing in the door way of the reactor core.

There, in a pale green protective suit, a large black Desert Eagle high powered hand gun firmly in his gloved hands and aimed directly at Metallo's head, was Special Agent Davison.


	46. Chapter 46

_Seventeen minutes ago…_

"I think we have a pulse!" Dr. Mullen shouted.

He had been working feverishly in an attempt to reroute the power from the emergency lights to the control room systems ever since Superman and Dr. Yamamoto left the room. In the time since, he had managed to shock himself twice, hurling a string of curses each time; illuminate the room twice, once in a hail of sparks from the wires he was working on, and the second time the actual room brightened slightly, and finally, while the room remained dim, the amber points of light that accessed the virtual keyboards blinked into existence and hung in the air.

Now, Dr. Morales, virtual keyboard before her, was typing away feverishly. A monitor fluttered to life over the wall, blinking in and out sporadically. "I'm in!" she reported.

Davison was next to her. Up until then, he had been content with pacing the room quietly, allowing the "big brains" to work without interruption. "Can you access the cooling programs?" he asked.

"One second..." Morales's fingers danced gracefully over the keyboard. "It's not working. The programs still not responding."

Mullen cursed. "We're wasting time. We need to get out of here before it's too late?"

"We don't leave until this situation is under control!" Davison barked, giving him a stern look.

Mullen opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it.

"Why don't you try helping Dr. Morales instead of whining like an eight year old girl?" Davison urged.

"Why?" Mullen spit back. "It's no use. The systems complete FUBAR and we're running on batteries. None of the primaries are working and we'd have to hack the firewall to get to the fail-safe's…" His eyes went wide then. "That's it!" he shouted, clapping his hands together. He was in front of his own virtual keyboard a moment later, typing quickly. Another monitor flickered into view.

Davison and Morales looked at each other and then to Mullen. "What is it?" Davison asked.

"The fail-safe's!" he said excitedly. "They're programmed into the main OS; not the primaries or the sub routines! We just have to hack the firewall and upload them!"

"Of course!" Morales smiled, her attention snapping back to her own monitor. "Brilliant!"

Davison frowned. "What's he talking about?" he asked her.

"There are failsafe programs built into the main operating system. They are basically stripped down version of all the safety and containment protocols we had in place before we reset the system." she explained. "Primarily the cooling and venting programs! We won't be able to activate any of the subroutines, but we should be able to cool and vent the cores!"

Davison felt a weight lift from his shoulders. "Lady, I could kiss you!"

"Careful, Agent." Mullen said. "That's my woman you're talking about."

Davison looked at him, and then to Morales, who blushed, but didn't correct him. He rolled his eyes. "Wow!" he sighed. "I so did not see that coming!"

Mullen laughed. "What? You didn't think a geek like me could score a fine piece of a—"

"Dr. Mullen!" Morales shouted.

Mullen's face went solemn. "Sorry, honey." He said softly. "Alright. I'm in!" he reported.

Davison walked over to him. Lines of code were scrolling past on his monitor faster than he could read.

"It's not much, but so far I got security, power relay, turbine controls…"

"Cooling!" Davison urged.

"On it!" Mullen punched in a series of commands. "Yes!" he shouted. "Cooling controls are online! Opening valves… and pumping coolant…NOW!" he pressed the "ENTER" key.

"Confirmed!" this from Morales. "Valves are open and coolant is running." She looked at the two men. "We did it." She beamed.

"YES!" Mullen shouted, doing a little dance. "I am the man! I am the man!"

Davison just looked at him and shook his head.

Morales crossed the room, grabbed Mullen by the head, and kissed him deeply and passionately. "When we get home, Papi," she began. "I'm going to rip your clothes off and…"

There was a loud beep from one of the monitors.

Mullen went to it. He read the screen and sighed. "Well screw me gentle with a chainsaw!"

"Now what?" Davison asked.

"There's a block in reactor two." Mullen explained. "The coolant's not reaching the core."

"What about reactor one?" Davison asked.

Morales was back at her station, her fingers once again dancing over the keys. "Coolant flow in reactor one is at one-hundred percent." She typed another command. "The temperature is already down to four hundred degrees and continuing to fall."

"Damnit!" Davison fumed. "See if you can get the communication system operational." He told Morales. "We need to tell Superman and Yamamoto to check the pipes and see if they can get the coolant flowing again."

"I think I can pull up the security feed from inside the chamber." Mullen offered. "Maybe we can see what the problem is."

He typed in a series on commands and his monitor flickered, then the screen shifted to a color display of the reactor chamber interior.

"What the hell?" Mullen shouted.

Davison was next to him then, his eyes wide. "Oh no…" he whispered.

There on the screen, they watched Superman lift something that looked like a killer robot from the future into the air, slam it to the floor, and fling it across the chamber. Then, almost faster than they could follow, Superman zipped across the chamber, pulled the door from its hinges and zipped across the chamber out of view. The camera shook then. Then again. And again. And twice more.

"What the hell was that?" Mullen asked.

Davison heard himself answer as if someone else had spoken. "Metallo." He said softly.

"What's a Metallo?" Morales asked. She was standing beside them, looking at the monitor.

Before anyone could answer, Superman staggered back into view. The front of his protective suit was visibly torn. He walked towards the core like a drunk leaving a bar.

"What's wrong with him?" Mullen asked. "And where's Dr. Yamamoto?"

"There." Morales pointed at a small unmoving object in the corner of the screen. "Oh my God. Is he…?"

"Is that fuel rod supposed to be green?" Davison asked.

"No." Morales answered after a moment. "They usually emit an amber glow."

Superman stopped over the core and seemed to just collapse. After a moment, he fell forward and rested for a moment before reaching down into the core. And after several long moments, he simply fell forward and didn't move.

A minute or so later, the large metal robot-man was back on screen, walking towards Superman. He bent over him and began tearing the protective suit away like it was wrapping paper.

"We should do something." Mullen said; his eyes fixed on the monitor. "Hey, Agent Davison, maybe we should go down there…"

He turned to address the man, but no one was there.

Agent Davison was already gone.


	47. Chapter 47

"And who might you be?" Metallo asked.

"Special Agent Davison. MHD." He answered. "You are under arrest! Release Superman, get down on your knees, and place your hands behind your… skull."

Metallo tilted his head to one side, an odd gesture considering the rest of his body was facing the other direction. "You have got to be joking."

"Drop Superman or I will shoot you!" Davison barked.

"You tried that already, remember."

Davison opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it.

"Tell you what," Metallo continued. "You want Superman, you can have him. Catch!" and with amazing speed, Metallo's body twisted at the waist and he flung Superman head first towards the agent.

Davison was barely able to dodge in time, diving further into the chamber to avoid the humanoid missile. He rolled forward and to his feet just as Metallo closed on him. He had just enough time to raise his weapon, aim, and fire off a round, hitting the metal menace right between his emerald hued electronic eyes.

Metallo froze and looked down at him, not so much a scratch across his brow. "That really isn't going to work." he said, and then punched Davison across the room.

He hit the wall with a bone jarring thud and slid to the floor. Davison tried to stand, but everything was blurry and he couldn't tell which way was up.

He was suddenly in the air.

His vision finally focused and he looked down at Metallo's visage.

"Who invited you to the party?" Metallo asked. "You here to see the reactor go 'boom'?"

"Not exactly!" Davison answered. He raised the gun and slammed it hard against the side of Metallo's metal skull. His arm reverberated painfully with the blow and Metallo's head tilted slightly to one side.

And that was it.

"Now that wasn't very nice." Metallo said.

He twisted and slammed the smaller man hard into the floor, the air rushing from Davison's lungs, and audible "snap" coming from his chest.

He raised the agent back into the air then.

Davison tried to breathe and couldn't. Intense blinding pain filled his entire left side. One or more of his ribs were broken. He tried again, and this time, the air rushed into his lungs with a gasp. He immediately regretted it, the expansion of his lungs intensifying his pain.

"You ready to behave?" Metallo asked.

Davison spit a cursed at him.

"Now, now, Agent… Davison was it?" Metallo began. "Just because I'm about to rip this suit off you and watch your body boil in this heat… well, that doesn't mean we can't be civil."

Through his suits HUD, Davison could see the temperature in the room was well above two thousand degrees. He could already feel the heat through the layers of protection, the suits internal computer trying desperately to compensate by pumping oxygen and coolant through the suit. Davison knew that if he lost the suit, he wouldn't last five seconds in the chamber.

There was a sound like thunder and the entire chamber shook. Davison looked up and saw the walls begin to crack, the metal splitting like fractured glass.

"Looks like the shows about to start." Metallo said, looking around as well. His electronic eyes fell back on Davison. "I'm in a good mood," he began. "So how about I give you the choice. I can either pull this helmet off of you…" a robotic hand hovered over Davison's visor, the fingers dancing excitedly. "Or you get to say you saw reactor meltdown from the inside before you die. Your choice!"

Davison seemed to consider it for a moment.

"How about option 'C"…" he said finally. "I watch Superman kick your ass." He shouted, looking over Metallo's left shoulder.

Metallo followed his gaze, ready to dodge and attack, or even use the agent's body as a shield.

But Superman still lay motionless on the floor near the chamber door.

"Made you look!" Davison shouted. And he squeezed the trigger of his weapon, firing repeatedly into Metallo.

A half dozen shots echoed throughout the chamber, then the gun finally clicked empty, the chamber sliding back into a locked position.

And still, Metallo held him aloft, completely un-phased by the attack.

The robotic eyes looked at him. "Wow." Metallo said. "You're really thick. I told you, bullets don't affect me. I'm as impervious as Superman."

And even though he was foot in the air, held aloft by a metallic monster about to rip away the only thing keeping him from a slow, agonizing death, Special Agent Davon Davison of the Meta-Humans Division of the Federal Bureau of Investigation; looked down at him and smiled.

"Not all of you." He said.

It took Metallo a second to realize what he meant. Then, he looked down, and he saw it.

His Kryptonite heart was shattered and lay in a hundred pieces around his metallic feet.

Metallo roared in rage. He flung Davison to the side like garbage and fell to his knees, his metal fingers trying desperately to pick up the small kryptonite shards in fit them back into the chamber in his chest. Sounds of frustration escaped his vocal processor as every piece he placed in his chest slipped away quickly and back to the floor.

"No." he shouted. "No! Not my heart. I need my heart!"

And already he could feel his power supply draining. In a matter of minutes, he would be unable to move.

The metal man knelt there, trying desperately to put his heart back together.


	48. Chapter 48

Davison slid across the floor in a heap, his broken ribs shooting pain through his body.

On the other side of the reactor core, Metallo was on his knees, trying to pick up the pieces of his broken heart.

Davison ignored the obvious reference.

There was a moan from a few feet away.

Davison turned, and there, on the floor less than a yard away from him, was Superman. He pushed to his knees and crawled towards the Man of Steel, his every motion sending pain through his body.

"Superman." He said in a hushed voice as he neared him. "Superman! Can you hear me?"

"N-need… to… stop him…" Superman muttered barely conscious, his eyes rolling in his head. "Need… to… save Lois…"

Davison glanced back at Metallo for a moment. He was still occupied with the pieces of his broken heart and had seemingly forgotten about his two foes. Davison took a deep breath, and pushed himself to his feet, the pain intense and immediate.

"Come on, big guy…" he said to Superman, kneeling beside him and grapping him under the arms and around the chest. "We need to get you out of here."

And despite the pain, despite not being able to catch his breath, despite the bulk of the suit and the popping sensation in his side with every step, Davison dragged Superman from the reactor chamber.

"Damn…" he said through gritted teeth. "You're really heavy for a guy that can fly."

They were halfway to the cross section when Superman completed a full sentence.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked.

"We need to get you away from Metallo and the reactor." Davison answered.

"No." Superman protested, struggling slightly. "I have to stop Metallo and save the city."

"Well as soon as you get your strength back and we get a fresh containment suit on you, be my guess."

"There's no time." Superman said, wiggling free and rolling to his hands and knees. Davison knelt beside him. "The chamber is already beginning to melt." He pointed it the large dome.

Davison looked at it through his visor, the HUD flashing bright red numbers that flashed in the ballpark of twenty-four hundred degrees.

Davison looked around at the rest of the space. The heat radiating off the dome was intense, the rest of the plant was over one hundred and fifty degrees.

"Just give me a second to catch my breath." Superman said. "I'll grab another suit from the scrub room and head back in."

"Take mine." Davison said flatly.

Superman looked up at him. Davison's eyes were serious and dark. Superman shook his head. "The heat out here is too high. Your blood will boil and you'll die."

Davison reached up and grabbed his helmet, and with a twist, the air inside hissed free. He pulled the protective gear from his head. "Then you better hurry." He said handing it to Superman.

Metallo's brain was hardwired into his body CPU. His emerald hued robotic eyes offered him four different vision options; telescopic, infrared, night vision, and a full spectrum sensor that allowed him to scan any object and determine its physical composition, size, shape, and density. Sensors in his feet and hands also calculated an objects weight, his current environments exterior temperature, and could be tuned to sense local area vibrations and used as a type of pseudo sonar, relaying the location and movements of everything around him that moved.

His ears were more accurately highly sensitive auditory receptors, able to pick up the faintest whisper from up to a half mile away. His vocal processor could also mimic any voice or sound he had stored on his extensive database, as well as emit ultra high frequency sounds and signals, including wireless and broadband signals, allowing him to communicate and control nearly any wireless electronic device within range.

His exoskeleton was crammed with high powered servo motors, hydraulic pistons, and reinforced joints. He could easily heft more than twenty ton's, sprint in excess of eighty miles and hour, leap vertically over fifteen stories, and punch or kick through a six-inch steel plate.

His CPU also allowed him access to virtually every memory, calculated limitless scenarios, and processed information at an amazing 30tb per second.

Simply put, he was possible the most advanced robotic life form ever created.

And as his power slowly drained away, he realized that none of it made on bit of difference.

Metallo was frantically trying to scoop up the small shards of kryptonite littering the floor and slid them back into the casing. And each time he tried, he failed.

His electronic voice boomed through the chamber, a howl of frustration bellowing out from his metal teeth lined mouth.

His CPU told him his power reserves were down to thirty percent and dropping rapidly. In a less than two minutes, his body would shut down, and as a failsafe, a sedative would be pumped into the casing holding his brain, putting him into a mild coma. And there, he would wait, until power was restored to his body, and a second chemical would revive him.

Metallo wasn't about to let that happen.

We looked around the room frantically searching for anything he could utilize to repower his exoskeleton; power cables, electrical lines; anything.

And then he saw the emerald glow emanating from the reactor core.

If he had lips, he would have smiled like a kid in a toy store.

He scrambled over to the core and reached down, his metal fingers wrapping around the handle on the casing. His hand spun at the wrist, completing several rapid rotations, and he pulled the casing free. The kryptonite rod seemed to pulse with life.

Metallo broke the casing with a squeeze, the super heated metal falling to the floor. He held the rod in his hands. His sensors told him that the rod was close to three thousand degrees and its physical density and composition had lost nearly eighty percent of its integrity. It was like a warm mound of fresh clay.

Metallo's fingers danced over it, his palms finding the ends, and pressed it together, the rod compressing under his strength. He molded the rock expertly, reshaping it into a tight perfect sphere the size of a cantaloupe. It fit the housing in his chest perfectly. The nanites in the housing immediately hardwired his new heart in place, and a surge of power shot through Metallo.

He was back at one hundred percent!

"Congratulations." A familiar voice called from the chamber doorway.

Metallo turned and readied himself for battle.

Superman stood there, a fresh protective suit covering him from head to toe, a wide smile across his face. "You just saved Metropolis!"

Metallo looked at him undaunted. "Well… at least I'll still get to kill you!"

And Superman's face turned then into a visage of grim determination. At his sides, his hands balled into tight fist.

"Metallo… your about to be scrap metal!"

They rushed each other!


	49. Chapter 49

The walls of the reactor chamber cracked and split. The floor shook like an earthquake epicenter. The sound of pounding thunder filled the air.

And it had nothing to do with the reactor core, but the two titans battling over it.

Superman and Metallo traded blows like two heavyweight boxers standing toe to toe! Superman landed a right that spun Metallo's head around. Metallo landed an over hand left that bent the reinforced steel beneath Superman's feet. Superman landed a left hook that rocked the metal exoskeleton. Metallo backhanded him and cracked the visor on Superman's protective helmet.

Superman countered with an uppercut that lifted Metallo into the air, arching his back, and immediately followed with a left hand that sent the metal behemoth into the far wall. The superheated steel seemed to envelop him like a blanket.

And before he could pry himself free, Superman was on him, raining thunderous blows down on his skull and metal face; each blow shaking the chamber violently.

After a moment, Metallo caught one of Superman's fist as it closed in, and as the Man of Steel tried to pull free, Metallo raised both legs and mule kicked him in the chest, sending him sailing into the opposite wall; Superman covering the space in a blink of an eye.

The metal wall cracked with the impact. Superman pushed away just as Metallo rushed him again, his hands out before him, the tips of his fingers barbed claws.

Superman took to the air just as Metallo swiped the wall where he was just standing, his claws tearing sparks from the wall.

"Running away won't save you today, blue boy!" Metallo hissed. With a quick squat and a powerful thrust of his legs, Metallo shot up after him. Superman dodged easily, but Metallo's barbed fingers latched onto the curved ceiling and he chased after Superman, his legs propelling him after his flying foe, his hands clawing at the air every time Superman ducked, dodged, or zipped to the other side of the other side of the chamber.

"Stop running so I can kill you!" Metallo shouted; his voice much louder than humanly possible.

"Whatever you say?" Superman replied, his feet firmly on the floor.

Metallo shot towards him, and as he sailed through the air, he saw Superman bend down quickly and grab a control rod, and take a stance like a major league batter.

He swung and connected with a sound like a sledgehammer hitting a large gong.

The rod snapped with the impact and Metallo was suddenly shooting in the other direction. He hit the ceiling and slammed into the collection of pipes there, cracking and bending them severely; steam spraying from one of them.

Something dripped down and hit the floor.

Superman expected the liquid to evaporate on contact, but instead, the liquid hit and splattered, and seemed to simply sit there. A few more drops joined it.

Superman smiled.

Metallo tore his head free of the collection of pipes and, clinging to the ceiling, searched the chamber for his opponent.

Superman was now on the far side, resting casually against the wall, with his hands behind his back nonchalantly. He smiled up at him.

"You ready to surrender?" He asked.

"Absolutely." Metallo answered. "Right after I break every bone in your pathetic body!" He kicked away from the ceiling and rocketed down at amazing speed, his clawed hands ready to rip and tear.

And Superman was ready.

With a blur of motion, Superman pulled his hands out, the reinforced, lead-line reactor chamber door firmly in his grasp and held out before him.

Metallo slammed into him like a freight train, the impact sending both into the wall. Metallo pulled back slightly and looked down.

Superman's strength, and the force of his impact, had wrapped the door around his torso like a towel.

Metallo's emerald eyes looked at Superman, his hands snaking over his helmet. "You tried this already, remember?"

And he tore the helmet free with a hiss of escaping oxygen and a spray of coolant.

Superman looked at him, his eyes red with fire, flames seeping out around the edges.

"No… I didn't" Superman answered. The fire erupted from his eyes like a volcano. The sheer force and magnitude slammed into Metallo like a physical blow. He was lifted from the floor and propelled back a few yards. He managed to regain his footing a moment later and brace himself against the onslaught, raising his arms and lowering his head to protect his optics.

Superman stepped forward and poured on the heat, the flames turning into a wide focused laser the seemed to completely envelop Metallo in a crimson stream of pure heat and raw power.

The blast lasted for a few moments longer, ending abruptly as Superman blinked the beam out of existence.

Metallo uncrossed his arms and rose to his full height. His entire exoskeleton was bright red and waves of extreme heat radiated off every inch of him. He looked down at his metallic body. The door had been reduced to molten metal, and dripped away from him like sludge, the bulk of it already falling to the floor.

"Impressive display, Superman." He offered. "But my body is composed of a metal ten times more durable than the strongest steel. It won't melt so easy."

Superman regarded him carefully, eyeing every piece of bright red metallic alloy. And he smiled.

Metallo readied himself to attack, but before he could, Superman turned his gaze towards the ceiling, unleashing a pencil thin beam of focused heat that cut across the line of pipes with surgical precision.

The coolant erupted from the pipe like a water fall.

Metallo leapt forward just as the liquid rained down around him. The reaction was almost instantaneous. His superheated metal met the super-cooled fluid in an eruption steam and pressure that filled the chamber. The temperature drop was dramatic; falling drastically as the coolant hit the core. It continued to poor from the ceiling, filling the recessed floor, and even overflowing onto the walkway slightly to the raised walkway.

Superman floated up to the ceiling and using his strength, pinched the pipe closed, the steady stream of liquid slowing to a trickle.

The steam rose to meet him there on the ceiling, and he waited patiently for it to dissipate.

There was an ear splitting roar and Metallo erupted from the steam and wrapped his legs around Superman's waist and his hands around his throat!

"I'll kill you!" he screamed, his hands squeezing tightly. Superman struggled to get free, trying to pry himself from Metallo's grip.

And then he realized that Metallo's exoskeleton was… changing.

The typically polished metal began to darken to a dull grey color. The smooth surface turned coarse. Servos grinded to a halt. Pistons locked in place. Gears stopped turning.

Metallo couldn't move.

His eyes locked on Superman's. "What… what's happening? What the hell did you do to me? I-I can't move!"

"Good." Superman replied. "Then you'll have no problem holding on."

And Superman zipped out of the chamber.

He zigzagged through the plant and found the first door leading outside, and once free of the confines of the reinforced, lead lined walls, he shot in to the air at an astonishing speed.

He glanced down, and looked at the city, his city, Metropolis, solid and whole, as it shrank away from him; the city becoming the state, becoming the country, becoming the continent, becoming the western hemisphere of his adoptive planet.

"What are you doing?" Metallo asked, his voice near frantic. "Where are you taking me?"

"Someplace you won't be able to cause any trouble." Superman answered. A few moments later, he was hovering over the surface of the moon.

He pried the robot away from his body, and dropped him in the grey dust of earth's satellite.

"I'm sure you'll regain control of your body sooner or later," Superman offered. "If you ever make it back to earth, I'll be ready."

Without another word, Superman streaked back towards earth in a blur.

Metallo's eyes, the only part of his system that still seemed to be functioning properly, watched him go silently, his telescopic eyes tracking him.

He laid there silently, his exoskeleton contorted in an awkward position, his eyes looking out at the millions and million of stars.

And in the cold, darkness, silence, and beauty of space, Metallo began to plot, and scheme, and plan his vengeance.

While some would look at the dark vale of stars and wonder about the secrets of the universe; some would look a the vast emptiness surrounding them and contemplate the meaning of life; and some still would look at the bright blue orb glowing before them, the billions of lives scurrying about, completely oblivious to his watching eyes and consider their own insignificance; there was only one question burning through Metallo's cerebral cortex…

 _"Is that a tractor?"_


	50. Chapter 50 - 54

"… totally awesome!" was the first words that floated into Agent Davison's semi-conscious mind. "The way you fried his metal butt! We didn't really see anything after; the heat roasted the optics in the cameras. But it was still freaking amazing!"

Davison recognized Dr. Mullen's voice. He slowly opened his eyes. He was lying on the bare floor of the scrub room. His chest was bare, his muscular frame covered by a cooling blanket. Dr. Mullen and Dr. Morales were a few feet away, standing close enough for the length of their bodies to touch. Kneeling over him was Superman, who looked down at him, his crystal blue eyes full of concern. The protective suit was gone; his red and blue outfit once again bare to the world, his cape cascading around him.

"You kick his ass?" Davison asked; his voice soft and faint.

Superman smiled widely. "I dumped him on the moon."

Davison frowned, and then seemed to shrug slightly. "Less paperwork for me." He pushed himself to a sitting position and let the cooling blanket fall away. The room spun and he grabbed his head and closed his eyes.

"Here…" Superman handed him an open bottle of cool water. "You're severely dehydrated. Drink this. Slowly." He added.

Davison grabbed the bottle and took long, slow sips. When he was done, he held the half filled container to his temple, relishing the cooling sensation. "You save the city?" he asked, his eyes still closed.

"Both reactors have been cooled. Reactor two is actually flooded with coolant."

"And we even managed to restore the power relays." Mullen added. "I am happy to report that Metropolis is up and running again, thanks to yours truly."

Dr. Morales cleared her throat loudly.

"Thanks to us." He corrected himself.

"So we're not going to meltdown or explode?" Davison asked.

"Not today." Superman assured. His features went dark.

Davison immediately understood why. If power had been restored to the city, then the chair Lois Lane was trapped in…

Davison looked around the small room. "Dr. Yamamoto?"

Superman glanced towards the far wall. There, a cooling blanket covered a small form. "He ruptured his kidney when Metallo threw him into the wall. There was nothing I could do." He admitted.

Davison looked at him. He wanted to say something comforting, but nothing came to mind. He shook his head and took another sip of cool water.

"Chainsaws and Lipstick" began playing faintly.

Superman looked at the Federal agent.

"It's got a cool beat." Davison offered. He pulled his cellular phone from his pocket and pressed the send key.

"Davison. Who is this?... How the hell did you get this number?..." he sighed heavily, pulling the phone from his ear and offering it to Superman. "It's for you."

Superman took the phone, not at all surprised to hear the deep growling voice on the other end.

"I found her." Batman said plainly. "Whatever was blocking the trace signal just cut off a few minutes ago. I pinpointed the source of the transmission."

"Where?"

"Metropolis. Lower east end. Suicide Slums. Sixty-nine Terrace Loop."

"Sixty-nine Terrace Loop." Superman repeated. He tossed the phone back to Davison and was gone before it hit his hands.

Davison looked at the now vacant spot, then over towards Mullen and Morales, their hair dancing in the wind left behind by Superman's departure, then finally down at his phone. He pulled it to his ear.

"Seriously," he said. "How'd you get this number? Hello? Hello?" The line was dead.

He slid the phone back into his pocket and pushed himself to his feet. "Where's my shirt?" Morales pointed towards a mound of cotton one the floor. He picked it up, and slid it back over his torso with a grimace.

"Now what?" Mullen asked.

"Now," Davison answered, locating his firearm and sticking it in his waistline in the small of his back. "You get the rest of your staff in here and get this plant back together, reset the hard drives, reconfigure the systems; whatever the hell you need to do, just make sure what happened today never happens again!" He made for the door.

"Where are you going?"

Davison paused at the door. "Sixty-nine Terrace Loop." He answered flatly. "Pray Lois Lane is still alive. And pray harder for whoever Superman finds there if she isn't."

 _Six minutes ago..._

Jeremiah was walking slowly through the dim hall, the gun in front of him, business end forward.

Lois had vanished around the corner and he was searching for her carefully. He was done playing games. He was going to kill her, one way or another! But he wasn't taking any chances. The last time he underestimated her, he ended up in a pool of his own blood, barely conscious. As it was, he couldn't see out of his left eye, his nose was severely broken and would require cosmetic surgery to repair, his head was pounding, probable due to a mild concussion, and remaining upright was more of a challenge that he wanted to admit.

Simply put; she had beaten the crap out of him.

 _"Noah is going to love this…"_ he thought to himself. _"Now I can't tease him about the time Susie Colpepper stole his lunch money."_

He swung around the corner, the gun out before him, ready to fire.

The hall was empty.

To his right, the door to the sound proof room hung open, to his left, the hall loomed out.

"Where are you hiding?" he whispered. He thought of going into the darkness of the sound proof room, but his aching face made him think twice. He pulled the door closed, and after fishing the key from his pocket, he locked the door securely.

He quickly stuffed the key back into his pocket and turned towards the hall. His steps were slow and steady, his ears fighting past the ringing and straining to hear the faintest tell tale sounds. His eyes scanned the shadows and the dimly lit corners.

"You out here, Lois?" he called out. "Are we playing hide and seek now? Why don't you just come out so we can talk about this…? I think I owe you and apology." The gun swept back and forth slowly. "I didn't mean for it to end like this," he went on. "To be honest, I was actually hoping Superman would fail to save the city." He continued to inch forward. "You and I would have been completely safe in here. No matter how bad things got out there, we would have been perfectly fine. And when the smoke finally cleared, I would have lived up to my word. I would have given you back to Superman, considering he survived, and I would have turned myself in to the authorities. But then you got free…" He reached the junction and went left, the generator behind him.

"How'd you do that, by the way?" He asked as he moved. "Those straps were pretty tight. What'd you do? Break your own wrist and yank it out?" He whistled. "That must have hurt like hell. I'll admit," he said, his fingers gently touching the side of his swollen face. "You're one tough broad. I really underestimated you. I won't make that mistake again." He inched to the next corner and swung around again, ready to fire.

The hall was empty.

"By now, you must realize that there's no way out. The plate covering the stairs? Its remote controlled, kind of like a car door. And I have the only key." He tapped his pocket. The final corner was just a few feet away. He inched towards it. "I'll make you a deal," he said softly. "If you come out now, I promise no to shoot you. We can put you back in the chair and we can see how all this plays out." He was at the corner, gun at the ready. "What do you say?"

He swung around the corner and nearly fired at the staircase and empty darkness.

Lois wasn't there.

Jeremiah screamed obscenities into the darkness and stormed back down the hall, murderous intentions on his heart and mind.

Lois was trembling.

She tried to stay as still as she could in the narrow space behind the fifty-five gallon drum of, based on the smell, could only be gasoline. The generator beside her was running steadily, a sound like a muffled lawnmower droning in her ear. Even still, she could just make out Jeremiahs voice in the dimness of the hallway. She listened to his insane rationalizations, his mindless meanderings, his wild explanations; all while huddled in the dark corner, her hand over her mouth. She wasn't worried about him hearing her breathe, but had to stop herself from screaming "Drop the gun and I'll show you how tough!" when he called her a "tough broad".

She watched him reach the hall, her heart pounding as he hesitated. When we went left, she exhaled slowly. She listened to him rant, and watched him inch towards the next corner, then swing around and out of view.

She waited another second, listening to his voice grow just a tad softer.

And then she made her move.

As silently as she could she crawled out from behind the drum and as quickly as she could, she began limping down towards the other end of the hall. She snaked around the sound proof room, and made a left at the end of the hall.

She didn't even pause and take it all in; rather she tore into the desk searching for a phone or a weapon or anything she could use to her advantage. She quickly rummaged through the drawers, the shelves and everything else. The best she could do was a six inch letter opener. He held it in the light and tested its weight. It wasn't much, but Lois figured it would have to do.

A gun went off behind her and something slammed into her left shoulder, spinning her around in a spray of blood and pain.

Lois fell to her back and grabbed her shoulder, warm red fluid pouring through her fingers. She screamed, her throat cracking with the sound. Tears streamed from her eyes.

And Jeremiah stepped over her, the barrel of the gun pointed at her head.

Her heart was thundering in her chest again, both intense pain and fiery rage boiling inside her as she looked up at him. She was breathing heavy and her eyes were burning.

And Lois realized that she was about to die.

And too her surprise, she wasn't afraid.

She was angry. Angry she was going to die on her back rather than on her feet, fighting.

To his credit, Jeremiah didn't gloat. He didn't brag or boast or say anything crass or snide. He simply pulled the trigger.

And clicked an empty chamber.

Lois didn't hesitate.

She kicked out with her right leg as hard as she could, her foot connecting squarely with Jeremiahs knee.

He howled in pain and fell to his back, clutching his ruined knee.

Lois rolled to her right side, the pain in her shoulder immense. She pushed to her knees, and with her right hand, she snatched the laptop computer from the desk and feel forward with it, trying to smash it into Jeremiahs head.

Even in excruciating pain, he managed to dodge to one side just as the small unit crashed into the stone floor, breaking in half. Jeremiah roared, and backhanded her across the temple. Lois fell against the wall, her head hitting the surface of the two sided mirror. Her eyes fluttered and when her vision came back, it was to see Jeremiah fist hurtling towards her face.

She ducked, and he hit the mirror, a cracking sound coming from his hand. He howled again and pulled his hand away slowly.

Lois was on him then.

A right-cross connected with his jaw and sent him reeling. He fell back and she mounted him again. She landed two solid blows on his already swollen left side.

Before she could land a third, Jeremiah reached up and grabbed her left shoulder and squeezed, his thumb digging into the exit wound.

Lois screamed. The pain was so intense, she nearly vomited. Her vision blurred and the room spun.

Then a hook caught her on the left side of her jaw and sent her to her back.

Lois lay sprawled on the floor, dazed and disoriented.

This time, Jeremiah crawled on top of her. His hands snaked around her throat and he began to squeeze.

Lois grabbed his hands and tried to pry them away from her throat, but between her broken thumb and her failing strength due to blood loss, she couldn't free herself.

She punched him. His head turned with the blow, but still he squeezed.

She hit him again, and again, and again.

And still he squeezed.

She fought frantically, her arms flailing, her legs kicking, her air fading. Her fingers clawed at his face; deep crimson lines trailing down his swollen cheeks.

And still he squeezed.

Darkness crept into the edges of her vision. Her energy was fading; her arms felt heavy, and her legs distant.

She was dying.

She looked up at Jeremiah, his face a swollen, emotionless mask. If he took any pleasure in what he was doing, it didn't show. His eyes were glazed over slightly, as if he wasn't really seeing the woman dying beneath him, but something much different, much further away.

" _Not… like… this…"_ Lois whispered to herself. " _Fight, damnit_!"

And she struggled again, the surge of adrenaline giving her a boost of strength.

She placed her feet flat on the stone floor and pushed up with her hips, lifting Jeremiah for a second. She tried to scamper out from beneath him and escape, but he remained in place, straddling her chest and torso; although she did manage to move a few inches.

Her hands flailed again, searching. Her right hand found something; a hard, long, pointy piece of metal.

She snatched up the letter opener and swung it widely with what little strength she had left. She stabbed Jeremiah in the chest, the blade plunging three inches deep just below his left color bone.

Jeremiah blinked twice, looked down at her, and then at the silver handle protruding from his chest. He slowly released her neck and fell away from her, staring in astonishment at his new wound.

Lois gasped for air and coughed hard. She rolled to her side and crawled away from Jeremiah, her back eventually pressing against the large shelf of computer terminals.

Jeremiah just sat there, blood rushing profusely from his chest. He looked at Lois, his one good eye tearing slightly.

They sat there in the dimness for a long moment, just staring at each other. Neither spoke, neither moved. Lois was massaging her neck; her breathing was ragged, and her throat was sore and raw. Her thumb was tucked against her stomach, her legs pulled close to her chest. She sat there silently, curled in a small ball.

Jeremiah was sitting with his back against the far wall. His legs were spread out before him, his hands were at his sides and his chest rose and fell steadily. And with each breath he took, a little more blood seeped from his chest.

Seconds turned to minutes.

Minutes dragged past.

And they just sat there silently, too hurt and too tired to fight any longer.

It's impossible to know how long they would have been content to just sit in the shadows of the room, each silently nursing their wounds, neither willing, or even wanting, to make the first move.

It's impossible to know, because in a blur of speed and a hail of lead, dirt, and rocks, Superman smashed through the ceiling.

Superman recognized the brownstone immediately; the four-story structure which, only a year ago, he saved from fire. The structure that had meant death for three people trapped inside a lead walled basement. And as soon as he saw it, he knew who was behind it all.

He scanned the unit as he streaked towards it. No one was inside. It was completely vacant. All the units were empty and devoid of furniture. And the lead walled basement beckoned him.

He dived into the building, crashing through the skylight and slamming into the floor of the lobby, and into the basement beneath.

The moment the roof exploded in between him and Lois, Jeremiah had not doubt about what was happening. Superman had found them. He didn't know how, and to be honest, it no longer mattered.

It was over. He had failed to kill Lois. The lack of seismic activity, burning air, or screams of pain, panic, and horror indicated the reactor had been saved from meltdown.

And Superman stood in front of him.

He looked down at Jeremiah, his eyes bright red, fiery energy licking at the edges. His face was a mixture of fury and revulsion. His hands were balled into tight fist and the very air was thick with his rage.

Jeremiahs heart seemed to shrink to the size of an acorn. Fear gripped him, so intense and complete, he couldn't remember ever feeling anything else. He looked up at him and knew in that moment what it was like to be an ant looked up at a very large magnifying glass.

"Superman…" the soft, horse voice called to him.

And just like that, as if someone had hit an "on/off" switch, the fire and fury in Superman's eyes faded, and all the tension drained from his body. He turned slowly.

There, on the floor, curled into a small, bruised ball, was Lois.

The right side of her face was a mixture of red, black, and purple and severely swollen. The left side was deep red. Dry blood sprinkled her chin and mouth. Crimson liquid seeped from the hole in her shoulder. She was cradling her left hand to her chest, her right hand limp in her lap.

And the moment he saw her, Superman began to cry.

He went to her, dropping to his knees and reaching for her slowly. The tips of his fingers gently brushed her swollen cheeks, tracing the once perfect line of her face. She reached for him just as tentatively and touched his face with a blood stained hand, feeling his strong neck and rugged chin. They looked at each other with love and sorrow and a million things unspoken.

He pulled her close and she wrapped her right arm around his neck, clinging to him as if he was the last solid thing in the world. He wrapped his arms around her and held her as if he was afraid she might turn to smoke and disappear if he squeezed too tight.

Lois began to sob in his chest.

And Superman cried with her.

"I'm sorry…" he whispered to her. "I'm so sorry." He said it over and over as they cried. "I should have been there for you. I should have saved you. I'm sorry Lois."

The moments passed by.

Lois pulled away first. She looked into the crystal blue eyes of the man she loved most in the world, and even though it hurt like hell to do so, she smiled. "Smallville," she began. "I had him right were I wanted him." She looked over his shoulder towards were Jeremiah sat and found nothing but a small pool of blood.

"He's in the next room." Superman said softly.

"He's going to escape." Lois cried, trying to pull herself to her feet. Superman stood and helped her stand.

"No." Superman said plainly. "He's not. He's just sitting there." Lois looked at him and then towards the two way mirror. "Stand back." Superman told her, and guided her back to the far wall. She hobbled as she went, favoring her injured ankle.

Superman turned to the two-way mirror and his eyes filled with fire again, this time unleashing a wide beam of heat. The two-way glass shattered a moment later.

On the other side, in the once sound proof room, Jeremiah sat on the floor facing him, clutching his knee, his face a mixture of pain, revulsion, hatred, and defeat.

The two men locked eyes, neither spoke for a long moment.

"The reactors?" Jeremiah asked.

"Safe." Superman answered plainly.

"The city?"

"Safe."

"The power?"

"Restored."

"Your wife?"

Superman hesitated for a moment. He spared a glance over to Lois, her own eyes locked on the man on the floor, her face unreadable.

"Safe." He answered. "And you're going to pay for what you did to her." He added.

Jeremiah smiled. "I see why you picked her." He offered, looking at Lois. "She represents the best humanity has to offer; strong, passionate, brave, caring, and compassionate. She's quite a woman. She reminds me a little of Lisa…" His eyes lingered on Lois for a moment, then back to Superman.

"I can't imagine what you went through after the fire," Superman began.

"Can't you?" Jeremiah interrupted, looking at Lois. "I think you know exactly how I felt, what I still feel to this day! The rage! The pain!" He pointed at Lois. "I tortured her for the entire world to see. I shot her! I beat her! I tried to kill her! LOOK AT HER!"

And Superman did. He saw his wife beaten, and bruised, and bleeding, and crying. The emotions boiled inside him and he slowly turned back towards Jeremiah, the fire filling his eyes once again.

Jeremiah smiled. "You want revenge?" he teased. "You want to kill me, don't you? You want to shear the skin from my bones with your heat vision, or beat me into paste, or tear my limb from limb. And the funny thing is; your wife is still alive. Imagine how I feel about you…"

"You..." Superman hesitated, his body trembling. "You murdered dozens of people on the ferry. You blew up a school bus filled with children for heaven's sake. And you nearly destroyed the entire city. And for what? Revenge?! Nothing you do will bring her back. Lisa would never have—"

"SHUT UP!" Jeremiah screamed. "YOU DON'T GET TO SAY HER NAME! YOU DON'T EVER GET TO TALK ABOUT HER!"

Superman went silent.

"She thought the world of you. You were her hero. She would lie out on the roof some times just to see you fly by." Jeremiahs eyes glazed over, as if he was seeing something far away. "She died praying you would save her." He added.

Superman didn't respond, and his eyes dropped.

"I wanted you to know how this feels, Superman; failing to save the one you care about most. To lose the only person in your life that matters. To fell the pain of having your heart ripped out, and to have to live with the pain; to live with a giant hole inside you that can't be filled. I wanted you to suffer, like I suffered, and I would have destroyed the world if I had too!"

Superman looked at him again, the resolve building him. "I'm taking you in." he said plainly. "You'll stand trial for the crimes you committed, and for the lives you destroyed."

Jeremiah looked at him for a moment before he spoke. He sighed. "You forgot the rules." He said softly. "For every person you save, another shall die." And he looked from Lois and back to Superman. "You can't save everyone."

Jeremiah grabbed the chair.

A hundred thousand watts.

One hundred amps.

He didn't scream or cry out in pain. He didn't twitch or thrash or flail. His body went rigid and his jaw slammed shut. His eyes rolled back in his head and his body began to smolder. Superman was suddenly next to him, pulling him from the chair, the current jumping briefly into his invulnerable body. Sparks erupted from the chair in a brilliant shower as Superman tore Jeremiah away.

And as he held the man, his body limp in his arms; still, silent, unmoving; he knew he was too late.

Jeremiah had been correct after all; Superman couldn't save him.

He lowered him gently to the floor and closed his eyes. He looked down at him, not sure how to feel or what to think.

There was the sound of glass cracking and Superman turned. Lois was stepping into the sound proof room.

He went to her, blocking her view of the body.

She looked at him, her eyes fierce and determined, her face mixed with fear and fury. And in that look, Superman understood.

He didn't try to stop her as she stepped around him.

Lois looked down at Jeremiahs lifeless form. Her eyes slowly slid over his body, from his feet, to his legs, his knee bent at an odd angle, to his waist and chest, the letter opener still protruding from just below his collar bone, his face a swollen mass; crimson lines carved down either side, his eyes closed, never to open again.

Superman turned and looked at her. Neither spoke, or even moved for a long time.

Then Lois vomited.

Superman was beside her then, holding her gently. "We need to get you to a hospital." He said when she was done, lifting her into the gentle cradle of his arms. She wrapper her good arm around his neck as he walked back towards the gaping hole he created in the ceiling. A moment later, she felt them rise into the air, nestled gently in his powerful arms.

They raised the height of the brownstone, floated up through the shattered skylight, out over the rooftop, and then slowly descended down towards the street.

Lois picked up the sound then; the thunderous thump of helicopter blades and the hum of the engine. It was a large medical chopper, painted bright with red and white, the medical seal embossed in bright green.

It descended from the sky in a storm of light and noise and wind, touching down in the center of the empty streets, sending stray scraps of paper and discarded plastic containers flying and dust clouds rolling. Before the wheels could swell under the weight of the craft, the doors opened and people rushed towards them.

Among them was Agent Davison. And Clark Kent.

Lois looked from Superman, to Clark, and back again.

"It's J'onn." He whispered to her ear.

She squeezed her arm a little tighter around his neck. "No." she whispered. "Don't leave me."

Superman hugged her a little tighter as well. "I won't." he whispered softly. "Ever! But you need medical attention, and the world needs to see Lois Lane-Kent," he added emphasis to Kent. "with her husband. Not with Superman."

Lois pulled away and looked up into his eyes and reluctantly, she understood.

They medical team reached them, a gurney rolling beside them. Superman gently lowered Lois to the gurney and they feverishly went to work in a storm of questions, jargon, and pre-emptive treatment.

And Clark was among them, gently holding her hand, whispering encouraging words to her ear and through her mind. But Lois only had eyes for Superman. Even as they loaded her into the aircraft, she refused to take her eyes off him. And he didn't take his eyes off of her.

Until Clark Kent stepped in front of him.

The two men eyed one another, very aware of the watchful eyes of Special Agent Davison and Special Agent Sanders.

Clark offered his hand.

Superman took it and shook.

Out loud, Clark said. "Thank you." as they shook hands. Mentally, the Martian telepath whispered. " _I will await you at the hospital, were you may take your proper place by her side."_

Superman nodded, and then watched his double ganger rush towards the helicopter and climb inside. Then he watched it rise into the air and speed off in the direction of Metropolis General. Inside the cabin, Lois watched Metropolis sweep by beneath them, the bright lights of the city dancing below. Clark was seated beside her and the medical team was beginning to treat her. Lois looked up at the man whose face was like that of her husband and smiled. _"I'm tired, J'onn."_ She thought.

" _Then, by all means, rest."_ The deep, heavy voice tingled through her mind. He placed a soft hand on her forehead and Lois closed her eyes. And finally, after all she had endured, and with a slight telepathic push, Lois allowed herself to fall into the dark of unconsciousness.

"Where's Jeremiah Kuttler?" Davison asked stepping forward.

"Inside." Superman answered. "In the basement."

"Alive?" Davison asked.

Superman didn't answer.

Davison looked at Sanders, who nodded and went towards the brownstone entrance, leaving Superman and Davison alone in the street. In the distance, police sirens could be heard.

"How'd you know it was him?" Superman asked.

"I ran the address through the computer. The fire caught my attention, and once his and his wife's name popped up, it was just a matter of connecting the dots. They guy worked as one of the technicians at LexCorp Hydro-Nuclear. He was the fourth member of Yamamoto's team. In fact, he programmed the control systems for the reactor chambers. That gives him access to the chambers, the tram, and the ferry. The school buses must have been something he cooked up on the side. He wasn't in any of the interviews we conducted at the plant because he was supposed to be on vacation; guess where."

"Australia." Superman answered, seeing the pattern. Davison nodded.

"Once the security log is back online at the plant, I'm sure well see that Mr. Kuttler made an unscheduled visit to his job within the last twenty four hours. Just in time to plant the rod. I'd love to know where he got that kryptonite fuel rod."

"The Stangin Research Facility." Superman offered. "That's what he was working on: a kryptonite powered reactor."

Agent Davison rolled his eyes. "Score another for science. Kuttler had PhD's in nuclear physics and applied nuclear engineering. Those bombs must have been his pet project. And get this, his younger brother is on our most wanted list; Noah Kuttler, aka the Calculator."

Superman seemed to consider it all very carefully. He was quiet for a long moment.

"Should I ask what happened in there?" Davison asked finally.

Superman looked at him, his face serious. "He killed himself." He answered flatly. "He was right. I can't save everyone."

Davison shrugged. "Some people shouldn't be saved."

Superman looked at him. "You can't mean that."

Davison returned his look evenly. "A ferry full of people. A school bus. A research facility. The entire city of Metropolis. Lois." He said each pointedly. "This guy was as far gone as they get." Superman opened his mouth to respond, but Davison held up a hand to stop him. "Should he have to die for it? That's not for us to decide." He admitted. "But consider the alternative; he goes to trial, some hot shot lawyer gets him declared insane. He spends some time inside a minimum security hospital, where he eventually escapes and tries all this again, except maybe next time, he gets it right. Personally, I prefer the more definitive solution."

Superman blinked at him, not sure what to make of the man before him. "I thought we were supposed to be the heroes…"

Davison laughed. "You're the hero." He admitted. "I'm just a guy with a job to do." The other officers and agents were arriving, a swarm of suits and uniforms rushing towards the brownstone en mass. Davison went to join them.

"Shouldn't you be getting to the hospital?" Superman asked. "Your ribs…?"

Davison looked back over his shoulder. "I'll be fine."

"But your ribs…" Out of pure instinct, Superman X-rayed him. What should have been a pair of broken ribs on the left hand side of his torso, were now completely healed bones.

Davison smiled at him. "They don't call it the Meta –Humans Division for nothing." He offered.

Superman opened his mouth, closed it, and finally offered the Special Agent a nod.

Davison returned the gesture and disappeared into the building.

Superman stood there for a moment longer, allowing the tension of the last few days slowly fade from his body.

It was over. Jeremiah Kuttler was dead. Lois was alive. Metropolis was safe.

Superman took to the sky.

When next Lois opened her eyes, she was in a hospital room, lying on a bed in a paper gown, covered in a light blanket and a lighter sheet. She felt groggy and tired and her body felt numb and distant. She looked for and found the IV taped to the bend of her right arm, the small bag it was connected to full of a transparent liquid.

She tried to sit up, and an intense, albeit distant pain shot through her shoulder. She looked down at it and saw a mass of bandages covering her from the collar to the upper arm, her left arm in a sling. Her left hand was in a small cast, her thumb immobile. As sensation floated back to her, she felt something tight and restrictive around her right ankle.

"Use the bed controls." Clark offered. He was sitting in a chair beside the bed. He leaned forward over her, taking her right hand softly into his own.

She smiled at him, and then frowned. "Are you really you?" she asked.

He smiled back. "It's really me, Lois."

"Good." Lois smiled. "I was afraid I was going to have to sleep with J'onn again." She joked. Clark smiled. He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed it softly.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

Lois glanced up at the IV bag hanging over the bed. "Great. I wonder if they have this to go." She looked back to Clark. "What time is it?"

He glanced at his wrist watch, a gift from her on their second anniversary. "Almost ten thirty."

"That's not bad." Lois yawned. "I thought I'd be out longer."

"It's Wednesday."

She raised an eyebrow. "I've been out for two days?" Clark nodded. Lois looked at him for a moment, and then shrugged slightly, frowning at the pain in her shoulder. "Guess I needed the rest. What's the damage?"

"The bullet went in and out." Clark explained. "You were lucky. It missed the bones and didn't do any permanent damage. Only twenty-seven stitches."

"Only?" Lois interrupted with a frown.

Clark shrugged. "Your arm will need to stay as immobile as possible for at least a week, then, after your stitches come out, you'll need about six weeks of physical therapy."

"Great." Lois sighed. "And this?" She moved her left had slightly.

"You dislocated your thumb and broke the bone." Clark regarded her carefully. "How did he break your hand?" he asked.

Lois smiled. "This," she wiggled her hand again. "Was all me; had to get free somehow."

Clark was silent for a moment, and just looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. "You are full of surprises." He said finally.

"Hey, Lois Lane-Kent is no body's victim." She stated matter-of-factly. She went on to recount her experience of events that lead up to Superman's arrival in the basement. She told him about the Stangin Institute and the work they were doing there, about the proposed ten million dollar grant. She spoke about Alisa, and the kryptonite fusion reactor, about the explosion and waking in the dark sound proof room, about the chair and the pain, about her escape and her battle with Jeremiah.

Clark listened intently, and when she was done, he gave her the details of his own experiences since the last time he spoke to her on the phone. He told about the tram and the ferry, about his night spent listening to the heartbreak of Metropolis. He spoke about the school bus and the small boy he saved and gave his cape to, about the reactor and his battle with Metallo and finally his emergence in the basement of the brownstone.

"He must have really hated you." Lois said softly.

"In a way," Clark began. "I understand why." Lois raised an eyebrow. Clark edged a little closer. "Lois, when I saw what he did to you, I wanted nothing more than to break him in two." He explained. "I wanted him to feel every bit of the pain he gave you. And then some! And you were still alive, still whole. His wife is gone. And in his heart, for whatever reason, he truly believes I'm to blame." Lois opened her mouth to protest, but Clark held up his hand. "And while I don't condone his actions, I understand his motivation. When somebody hurts someone you care about, someone you love; you want to hurt them back. It's human nature."

Lois smiled at that. "Human nature?"

Clark smiled back. "Yes!" he answered, ignoring her jab. His face turned serious then as she looked into her eyes. "I was so afraid I was going to lose you." He admitted.

Lois pulled her hand away and ran her fingers through his hair. She smiled at him. "I'm not letting you off that easy, Smallville. You're stuck with me!"

And again, Clark pulled her hand to his lips and kissed the smooth soft skin gently.

A nurse entered the room then, all smiles and well wishes. "Good. You're up." She beamed. "We were afraid you were going to miss breakfast again." She was carrying a tray of covered dishes.

"What's on the menu?" Lois asked.

"Runny eggs, under cooked sausage patties, over ripe fruit salad, and month old apple juice." The nurse answered with a wink and a smile.

Lois frowned. "Good thing I'm in a hospital."

The nurse placed the tray on a serving stand and slid it into position. "You are one lucky woman." She offered.

"I wasn't hurt that bad." Lois replied, adjusting her height with the bed control.

"Not that," the nurse corrected. "Your husband." She gestured to Clark. "He's been by your side every second since you came out of surgery. I don't think he's even been to the bathroom. I had my tonsils taken out last year and you know what my sorry excuse for a husband did? Played golf! You have a good man."

Lois looked at Clark; his crystal blue eyes behind the thick rimmed glasses, his dark black hair, the perfect lines of his face, his smooth soft skin. She pulled him close and kissed his lips softly. "He's the best. He's my Superman."

"Yum." The nurse went on. "Superman! Now I'd love to be the one to fold his cape at night!"

Lois and Clark looked at one another and smiled.

"I'll let the doctor know you awake." The nurse said as she left the room.

Lois pushed back the sheet and blanket and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

"Where are you going?" Clark asked.

"Bathroom."

"Let me help you." Clark offered, standing.

"No!" Lois protested, pushing him away. She grabbed the IV stand and began limping towards the restroom. "I can still do things myself. I'm not helpless!"

Clark looked at her. _"No."_ he thought to himself, watching her hobble into the small room and close the door behind her, a wide smile gracing his lips. _"You're not helpless at all."_

"And you better not be x-raying me in here!"

 _Epilogue_

It was raining. The sky was covered in dark swollen clouds that hung low over Metropolis, blocking out the moon and stars beyond. It was late.

Noah stood alone in the graveyard looking down at the tombstones.

The first read "Lisa Ann Kuttler; Beloved wife and Mother." The second: "Jeremiah Kuttler; Beloved Husband and Father." Noah had added "and Brother" in black permanent marker. He wasn't sure if it would last in the rain, and didn't really care.

It had been three weeks since the funeral, and for obvious reason, Noah had waited to come pay his respects.

He stood there for what seemed like hours. The rain had poured down on him relentlessly since he was without an umbrella.

"Good-bye, big brother." He said finally, and he turned and walked slowly towards the cemetery entrance and the streets below.

He made it as far as the walkway.

In a gust of wind, Superman was suddenly in front of him.

"We need to talk." Was all he said. He grabbed Noah by the coat and shot into the air like a rocket. The speed was so intense, that in a matter of seconds, the blood rushing from his head, Noah blacked out.

When he woke, it was bright and sunny and hot. Really hot. Sweat dripped from his face and brow. Something hard was pressing into the side of his face. He slowly opened his eyes. He was face down in the dirt and sand.

He pushed away from the ground and looked around. Dry desert stretched out around him in nearly every direction. In every direction, as far as he could see, was nothing but sand and rock and dirt.

"Where the hell am I?" he asked out load.

"Egypt." A voice answered. Noah looked up.

Superman floated down to him. He was holding something. He landed a few yards away and looked at him fiercely.

Noah backed away. "W-what do you want?"

"Answers." Superman said plainly. He eyed Noah. "But first, I need you to understand something. I would never have killed him. No matter what he did to her, he would have lived to face justice. I'm no executioner. I need you to understand that."

Noah's eyes feel then. He had indeed hacked the FBI database and read the reports for himself; the forensic reports, and both Lois Lane's and Superman's own eye witness accounts of the events. He even read the coroner's report, which confirmed electrocution as the cause of death. But hearing Superman say it out load, well, Noah needed to hear it, even if he didn't realize it.

"Thank you." He said softly. "I know he killed himself. And I'm sorry for what happened to your…" he stopped himself before saying the next part. "I'm sorry about what happened to Lois."

Superman didn't respond. He just looked at the man across from him for a long moment in silence.

"On Krypton," he began finally. "Crime was virtually non-existent. When some one did break the few laws that they had, they were of course tried in a court of justice, and if found guilty, they were sentenced. Since there were no prisons on Krypton, the guilty had to serve out their sentences in the Phantom Zone."

Noah's blood ran cold. He looked at the strange device Superman held. It was metallic and shaped like a large dust buster, except the front in was divided into four equal slots and the handles had two grips.

"It's a lot like limbo." Superman continued. "There is no such thing as time. There's no up or down. No real since of weight or mass. You're just there. What seems like a year in the Phantom Zone is only a minute here. A life time there would be a day. You won't die, no matter how long your there. You won't age or get sick. You'll get hungry, but you won't starve. There's no food or water, but it doesn't matter because you won't need any; you can't really die in The Phantom Zone."

Noah's throat was suddenly very dry.

Superman aimed the device and pulled the trigger.

And tore a hole in time and space.

The vortex was the size of a large Jacuzzi and appeared beneath Noah almost instantly. Noah had a moment to see the earth simply vanish from beneath his feet, and then feel himself falling into nothingness.

Superman caught his wrist and held him over the hole. He floated above him under his own power. He looked down at Noah.

"WHO ELSE KNOWS!?" he roared.

"NO ONE!" Noah screamed, clinging to Superman's arm with all his strength.

"Don't lie to me!" Superman warned, shaking Noah slightly and lowering him closer to the hole.

"I-I'm not lying!" Noah shot back. "Pull me up!"

"Who knows!?" Superman said again.

"Luthor!" Noah cried. "Luthor! He knows!"

"And?" Superman lowered him a little further.

"And Brainiac!" Noah screamed.

"AND?!" Superman lowered him further. Noah looked down. He was waist deep in the vortex. He couldn't feel his legs.

"THAT'S IT! I SWEAR! NO ONE ELSE KNOWS! PLEASE!"

"Did you have anything to do with kidnapping Lois?"

"NO!"

"He had help, Kuttler! Was it you?"

"NO! I TOLD HIM NOT TO GO AFTER YOU! I TOLD HIM TO LEAVE YOU ALONE!"

"Then why'd you tell him about my secret identity?"

Noah was down to his chest, now. It felt like he was in a pool of ice cold water. "I WAS DRUNK! I DIDN'T KNOW I TOLD HIM! I SWEAR! SUPERMAN, PLEASE! I'M TELLING THE TRUTH!"

Superman looked down at the man clinging to his arm, more than half his body gone inside a swirling black hole of inter-dimensional energy.

And he believed him.

Superman pulled him free of the vortex and tossed him to the dust and sand of solid earth. With a simple press of a button, the vortex simply dissipated, leaving behind a gentle swirl of sand.

Noah was breathing hard; his heart was like a jackhammer in his chest. He rolled to his back and reached down and squeezed his legs, ensuring they were attached and whole.

A shadow fell over him and he looked up at Superman hovering a few feet above him.

"He went after my wife, Kuttler." He said plainly. "He nearly killed her. He murdered nearly sixty people. He blew up a school bus! He couldn't have done all that on his own."

Noah looked at him and shook his head. "You don't understand." He began. "Jeremiah was the 'smart' one! He graduated high school when he was fourteen; he finished college five years later with a double PhD! To him, math was like breathing. It was his life. It was all he ever cared about. Until he met Lisa."

Noah sat up and brushed the dirt from his pants. He looked up at Superman again. "She was his life. His world. His sun and moon. He could have been anything, done anything, but all he wanted was her. They moved to Metropolis because of her. He went to work for the plant because it allowed him to be closer to her. When he lost that, it broke him. His body may have died in that basement two month ago, but his heart and soul died over a year ago. He asked me to help him… you know… get you. And I told him to let it go. I swear to you, I begged him to drop it. A dozen shots later, and I may have let your secret slip. Hell, I could have told him where the Secret Society holds there annual clam bake, I was so wasted."

"Is that your excuse?" Superman asked angrily.

"No." Noah shot back. "But it's the truth." He pushed to his feet and stood facing Superman. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened to Lois, but I didn't have anything to do with it. I told him not to go after you, I tell most of my clients to leave you the hell alone to be honest, but he was a different man after Lisa died. He was broken."

Superman looked at him for a moment before he spoke. "I believe you." He said at last.

Noah shrugged. "Now what?"

"Well, you are a wanted man." Superman answered. "But I'm not taking you in. You have work to do."

Noah frowned. "What do you mean?"

Superman floated a little closer. "You're going to use your considerable resources and connections to make sure nothing ever happens to my wife. Lois Lane-Kent's safety is now your responsibility." He said matter-of-factly. "If anything happens to her; kidnapping, hostage, assassination, if she even get's a hangnail, I'm going to hold you responsible." He floated closer still. "You could run, you could hide in a lead lined box, but I promise you, I will find you and when I do, dropping you in the Phantom Zone will seem like a pleasure cruise compared to what I'll do to you. Do you understand me?"

Noah swallowed hard.

"Good." Superman said. And he began rising into the sky.

"Wait!" Noah called out. "Where are you going!? You can't just leave me out in the middle of nowhere!"

"You're a smart guy, Noah." Superman yelled back as he continued to fly away. "You'll figure something out."

And Noah Kuttler, the genius known to criminal underworld as the Calculator, watched Superman disappear over the horizon.

Less than an hour later, Superman soared through the skies over Metropolis. Life had returned to the city; its citizens ready to resume their lives; ready to once again put their trust in him.

Trust in Superman.

Millions of lives under his watchful, protective eyes.

And while he had to admit, he couldn't save everyone, he made a solemn promise to them, and to himself:

He would always try.


End file.
